Elei Fuin
by Itar94
Summary: HIATUS. AU, mpreg, L/OMC, L/Éomer. Summary: Legolas is haunted both by prophetic dreams, and memories of his recently passed away lover ... Note: Uncertain if/when I'll write on it again.
1. Dreaming

**Author****'****s ****note ****(December****2010): **I am trying finish and edit/beta/revise this story. All chapters with a title, other than a number, have been revised. Thank you all readers and reviewers. I appreciate of course all the comments and attention, but can't really believe it (This story started as a project when I naively thought it would be easy and quick. Yeah, you can see how that's turned out now) … Anyway. Please enjoy.  
The story jumps from past to present (Legolas' childhood, pre-FotR, and to the War of the Ring).

**Rating**: T/PG13  
**Warnings**: angst, dark themes, character death, slash, mpreg  
**Pairings**: Aragorn/Arwen, Legolas/OMC, Legolas/Éomer  
**Disclaimer**: "The One Ring has only One Lord ... And Tolkien does not share power." Everything sensible belongs to JRR Tolkien. Every error belongs to me.

()()()

**Chapter One:  
Dreaming**

_The forest was thick and lurking in the forest were dark shadows. In an old clearing stood three elves, clad in browns and greens. They held weapons in their hands. Two had hair dark as ebony, the last had hair sprung out of starlight._

_Blue eyes stared at them through the foliage, wide and uncertain, but the elves were blind to them._

_Nearing the group was more than a dousing of large spiders, the creatures which had made Mirkwood well known among people. The Dark forest, where evil lurked around each corner. _

_The spiders attacked. A knife was not raised in time, poisonous teeth sunk into soft skin and pierced flesh. Blood trickled down a throat. One moment later there was a cry and an arrow pierced the attacking monster; the wounded elf sunk to the ground; the poison already had set in. Swords and other sets of weapons were raised, thrown, slashing through flesh and covering the ground with blood. Cries and shrieks filled the air. It became heard to breathe._

_It was raining._

_Somewhere among the branches, a child was screaming._

"_Penneth, do not cry. Sch..." _

_His mother's soothing voice pulled him out of his nightmares. The small elfling cradled into the elven lady's lap, burying his fingers in her golden hair and the layers of her nightgown. "Do not cry, my little Lass... Was it another dream?"_

_Big blue eyes looked up at her. They were filled with unshed tears. The sight broke her heart, and she wished not for the first time that this curse had not been placed upon her son. "Dream...dream bad," he whispered weakly, clinging to her as if she was the last hope in a world of darkness. The small body trembled._

"_It will be alright ... Do not think of it more, Little Leaf ... It is over now." She stroke the child's cheek before she laid him in the bed again, covering him with blankets. Kissing him good-night she blew out the candle on the night side table. But when she turned to leave, there was a small whimper._

"_Please, don't leave, nana," the child's small voice came from the bed. "Don't like dark. Don't like to be alone..."_

_A soft smile spread across her lips. She sat down on the bed's edge and took his small hand in her own. It was slightly cold; she started rubbing it, and placed a kiss upon the soft skin. "It is alright, Legolas. Sleep. I am not ever letting the darkness catch you."_

_Three days later Legolas' elder brother, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, died by poison caused by a wound in battle with spiders. The blue eyes elfling cried himself to sleep._

()()()

It had been a long, harsh and cold day. The hobbits lay curled up next to each other, seeking warmth and protection from the snow and icy winds. Gandalf had managed to, against all odds it seemed, light up a small fire but it died quickly and they soon ran out of branches and wood to feed it with. Gimli and Boromir had fallen asleep; they needed rest, all of them. Legolas took the first shift of keeping watch, then changed with Aragorn.

He lay down a bit from the others. He did not like to rest. The company of the weather was not adding any comfort, for he was afraid to wake up from nightmares and that they would find out...

He did not want them to find out. The hobbits were young, and they already carried so many burdens, and heaviest of all carried Frodo, the Ringbearer. The dwarf Gimli and Boromir, the man, were no more than travel companions to him. They showed each other respect but there was nothing else, at least not yet, between them. And there was something about Boromir, he could feel it. 'It is the Ring ... it corrupts us all ... and he feels it the strongest.'

He, too, felt the Ring's call, the luring voice during dark nights – within so short reach ... Then he shook his head; he should not think such things and block the voice out. There was much else he had to deal with first.

Maybe joining the Fellowship was a foolish decision – but what could he do now, when they were so far on the road? Turn away? They had not even yet passed the mountains, and Mirkwood ... No, he could not go there.

He was not so sure, but he had a feeling Gandalf knew of his dilemma. _'Of__course__he__knows,'_ he thought and shifted_.__'Mithrandir__is__a__maia.__He__would__know,__of__course__he__would.'_

As for Aragorn... Aragorn had been his best friend for years, but yet had he not trusted the man with this. He knew that Estel would start worry and fuss over him, like all those "accidental" injuries over the years, thinking it something that could be fixed with herbs and healing skills and good patience. But it didn't.

A smile spread over his face. He could remember every hunting trip or journey with the man, every time he'd spent with him. It was his brother, he had sworn to protect him no matter what. And Aragorn was the most loyal of friends. 'Maybe one day, I can tell him...But not today.'

When he finally fell into slumber, he also fell into darkness. For a moment, he felt like floating in mid-air, then his bare feet touched stone. _A__cave..._The air around him was thick and cold, it was hard to breathe. It took a long time for his elven eyes to adjust to the darkness, then he could see shadows along the walls. Earth and stone hovered about him. He felt trapped, caged. And it scared him.

It was a dream, again_.__Not__again._

Large pillars rose high above him, and they were filled with runes and carvings. Dwarven handcraft. _A__mine..._He was in a mine. The chamber he was in was large. Some hundred feet from the nearest pillar was a broken stair, reaching up a floor where it stopped. There were no doors. He was trapped.

The shadows moved. There were clangs of weapons and shrieks of orcs lurking in the darkness around him, but they were out from his sight even though he felt their presences like itches around him and he shivered.

A hot breath touched his neck and he whipped around, to face a large burning creature from a nightmare. Flames licked the ceiling and the walls. In its hand the monster had a whip made of fire. From its gap came deep hot breaths, and floating fire burned its flesh as if it had risen from the fires of Mount Doom.

He wanted to run, to flee, but his limbs would not obey. _Run!_his mind screamed at him. _Run!_ His hands were trembling. For a moment, the Balrog did not move, nor did he.

Then a loud roar erupted from deep in its throat and feelings and control came back to him, and he turned and fled. His feet seemed not fast enough; he heard the monster come closer by each second. Its steps cracked the floors and made the ground tremble. The stones itself gave under for its weight. His heart beat so loud in his fear that he could not hear anything else. Nothing else than steps, roaring fires, and heartbeats.

For a moment he lost footing, and he fell. But there was no ground under him, nothing between him and the deep dark abyss below. It had no end. Stone cracked and broke. There was a scream.

And he was falling.

Somewhere above were thunder and flames and a clear voice rang out: "You shall not pass!"

Miles away woke a sweating elf, his heart beating wildly and wide blue eyes stared into the surrounding night filled with dread. Snow whirled around him and it took some moments for him to register what had happened, and where he was. Snores from next to him were almost drowned by the sound of the howling winds. Caradhras ... they were at Caradhras. The strong weather had worn them and forced them to a stop.

He looked around, and to his relief, he found that no one had woken. Aragorn was fast asleep next to him, and Mithrandir had taken his place. For a moment, the wizard lifted his eyes and a clear blue gaze from under the bushy eyebrows met the elf's. Mithrandir stared for a moment, but said naught, before he returned his attention elsewhere. Legolas spoke not either, though he doubted it would be heard through the growing, chilling winds.

Legolas wondered, again, if he knew.

()()()

The Lothlórien elves regarded them with silent wonder as they walked into the elven city, for it was not often groups of both mortals and immortals traveled together, nor had they seen beings such as hobbits before. How the prince of Mirkwood came with these people was something Haldir, the marchwarden, was intrigued to ask but refrained from it as the Lady's_talan_ came into view. The platform bound into the trees was large as a ship deck. Lanterns twinkled from everywhere. In the shadows elev guards hovered, never showing their faces or speaking to the newcomers. Two tall elves clad in gray nodded to Haldir and his men when they passed, giving the fellowship curios looks. They were led onto the center of the platform, and there they waited.

The Lady was really the Lady of the Light; she shone with such power that none except Aragorn perhaps dared to look at her and meet her piercing gaze more than a few moments. Frodo's breath was caught in his throat when she turned her blue eyes to him, and he heard her voice not from her tongue, but inside his mind. She seemed to know everything of him, his strength and his weakness and his secrets, and her voice when she spoke was deeper than women's usually are, filled with wisdom and age beyond his imagination.

_'You__bring__great__evil__here,_' she had said when they entered the woods. The Ring burned against his flesh where it hang in its chain.

Her husband, Lord Celeborn, spoke slowly to them. His voice was deep and rich.

There was awe in the other hobbit's shining eyes when they looked upon the Lady, as if they had seen a star fall from the sky to land and forest right in front of their noses, but they said no word, nor did Gimli the dwarf or Boromir, the man next to him. Aragorn talked for them, asking for protection.

The Lady's gaze traveled over the company, from each one looking into their hearts and soul, when telling them to rest. Her gaze landed lastly upon Legolas, the only elf of the Fellowship. He meet her blue eyes, not flinching away. _'I__know__you,'_ she said in his mind. _'Long__time__has__passed__since__I__looked__upon__your__face.'_

_'I know, my lady.'_

_'You are troubled, Ernil o Taur-nu-Fuin.'_

Legolas did not answer, for she already knew why and where his troubles came from. Muttering soothings into his mind, she said farewell to them, and elves led the fellowship to a glade to rest. Not once did her blue gaze leave the prince of Mirkwood, until he was away from sight.

()()()

Legolas eased himself into the water, the warmth lying like a blanket around him. The spring was clear as the night and stars above him; the twinkling lights reflected on the surface. He was glad to wash away the dirt and shadow from the Moria mines from his body. But no water could wash away the shadow that still lingered in his mind. He'd love to close his eyes and rest but he did not dare. Ever since Caradhras, he had been dreaming, the same nightmare playing over and over, and if he closed his eyes, he was afraid that the images would pull him back into the world of nightmares. Maybe it was just silly of him to think thus, that he might not wake up, but in truth, he was afraid.

_'Come__on,__Legolas,'_ he told himself. _'You__act__as__if__you__are__an__elfling!'_

He wanted to be a naïve, careless elfling again.

But ... For a moment he shut his eyes and he saw nothing but flames. With a gasp he quickly opened them again. '_The__dream__had__come__true...and__now__Mithrandir__is__gone.'_ He cursed under his breath, feeling anger and guilt build up inside of him. He was so weak._'I__should__have__told__him!__I__knew__it__would__happen!__Why,__why__could__I__not__tell?__If__just__...__'_

He buried his face in his hands. Did it even matter now? Gandalf was dead, and it was his fault.

_'I could have hindered it, stopped it, done something ... I knew ...'_

()()()

Lord Celeborn took her hand. She rested her eyes on him, her frame seemed to sink and the shine fade and then, she was only Galadriel and nothing else.

"It is theprinceyou are worried for," he said. He knew his wife very well, but only when she was Galadriel and not the Lady, he could read her.

"I am. Did you felt it?"

Celeborn sighed. "I did."

"It is not only the Dreams I am talking of, Celeborn," she said. His grave expression softened into a surprised one, but then he frowned. Galadriel led him up the stairs to their personal_talan_, demanding privacy. "You know very well why he has these dreams," she continued.

"Is there any way to stop them? He has hurt himself of it before and he will do it again," Celeborn interrupted while releasing her hand. The Ring on Galadriel's finger had faded in light.

She smiled sadly. "No, there is not. But, that is not the only thing that troubles him – do you not feel it? There is a new Light in him which I have not encountered before."

Celeborn's eyes widened slightly. "My lady, you do not mean ... This has not happened for ages."

She looked away from him, out of the window overlooking the gardens. Below, it was peaceful, a rest that went undisturbed by the evil of the world but only to the eye. The elves were restless and the woods shrinking, the lights and laughter fading like sunlight at sundown. It unsettled her too, but the discovery she had made today rekindled some hope that light might yet return to the world.

"I know. But I believe he is aware of it ... I saw it in his eyes and in his soul. It is not only one Life that shares his heartbeats now. But he is doubting himself ... If Mithrandir knew we cannot know now, for he hath fallen. Aragorn is strong for a man and Legolas trust him as a friend, but not on this matter. Neither he or the others of the fellowship knows of this. I dare not say what will or could happen, if this secret becomes no longer a secret ..."

Knowing where she was getting at, Celeborn nodded. "They would not let him continue," he said. "There are risks."

"Risks he is willing to take," Galadriel offered, turning to face her husband. His eyes held doubts and disbelief and the hope there was fading.

"So you believe him ready for this?"

There was a slight pause. "Aye ... I foresaw new times of light coming, but I must admit, that Legolas was a Lifecarrier came as a surprise for me," she said with a soft smile, looking at her husband. "I must speak to him of this matter before he leaves."

Celeborn nodded. "And what of the prince's father? Should I alert the King of Mirkwood?" Eru help him if that was so; if this had been done without Thranduil's knowledge ...

Galadriel pondered the question for a moment, before she spoke; "Let me speak to the prince first, my lord. This is his choice, after all."


	2. Once Upon A Memory

**Chapter Two:  
Many Shadows**

From everywhere around in the night rose elven voices in lamenting songs and lullabies. The music dulled his mind a bit, and he managed to relax slightly, though the Ring seemed heavier now than at the beginning of the long journey. It was the reminder, and he did not like it at all.

Frodo tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he remembered Moria and Gandalf who...who had fallen. And now Gandalf was dead. Gone. The wizard could no longer help them. How could they do this without him? They had been Nine, nine to equal the Nine Black Riders, the Ringwraiths and slaves under Sauron's power. Now they were Eight...He had a feeling they would soon face more loss and they would become fewer than that. 'Why me?' he couldn't help to ask himself, but he found no answer. 'I cannot do this...'

'What troubles would keep you awakeat this hour?' whispered a soft voice.

Startled Frodo sat up, looked around in the tent and at seeing the other hobbits' sleeping forms, he realized he had heard the voice in his mind. And only one could ... Lady Galadriel. Oh how he longed to look upon her ageless, wise, beautiful face again, to hear her voice.

The tent was open letting in fresh air. A soft wind passed, caressed his face and bearing the scent of flowers. He stood up, silently not to wake his friends. Outside the tent the grass beneath his feet was soft and tickled his skin slightly. High above twinkled many lanterns and lights of elven make, voices still hung around him like a blanket, and suddenly he was not tired anymore.

Something white passed him, shining with clear light, a frame tall and golden hair caressed by winds. Galadriel... Caught as of a spell the young hobbit followed; he crossed the clearing in which two tents had been set up for the fellowship, and walked under the shadows of the trees. The grass was still soft. He could not feel any time pass, he did not know how long he had walked. Ahead was a flickering shadow, a light.

Then came a clearing surrounded by the roots of great ancient trees. Galadriel floated down an ancient stone stair at the edge of the clearing. At each side of it were a statue of elves holding light fires in their hands. Moss had grown over the old stone, covered parts of it in a soft mat. Frodo's eyes stayed on Galadriel yet as he followed, slowly walking down the steps. She filled a silver can with water for a live spring, the water clear as glass; Frodo came closer.

"Will you look into the mirror?" Her voice was deep and even, and the hobbit looked up at her with uncertain eyes.

His gaze strayed from her to the middle of the clearing, where an ancient podium, four foot high, stood, and upon it was placed a bowl. "What will I see?" he asked wearily.

The White Lady filled the bowl with water to the edge. "Even the wisest cannot tell, for it shows many things; things that were, things that are..." She paused, lifting away the now emptied silver can. "And some things that have not yet come to pass."

Frodo looked up at her face, then back to the water-filled bowl and stepped closer. It was a call...Not as strong as the call of the Ring but closer, lighter, as if was promised to see the stars on a rainy day. Galadriel said not a word, but her piercing gaze followed the hobbit's every move. She wanted him to see this, whatever Fate had in store to show.

Frodo looked down. The surface of the water was clear, mirroring his face and the stars above. Was this what he should see? He lifted his gaze in confusion to the lady's, but she lowered her eyes back to the water, and then so did he.

The surface rippled and the water broke into images. There was Sam, dear Sam, as well as Merry and Pippin, and the three looked back at him in ... fear? Disappointment? Despair? Glimpses of a battle traveled past for a moment, but all he then saw were faceless warriors and orcs. The world was set on fire, and it was hard to breathe. Faint screams and cries left the water, there was a burning village and faces filled with fear and anger.

He trembled. The Ring was getting heavier; it started to slip from beneath his shirt. Unknowingly he was leaning forward, toward the surface. The fire and blood mixed and there was a roar. He saw a stone, a dark black stone upon a pillar. It was glowing, radiating power; then a pair of blue eyes look up at him from within the stone, a pair of eyes he somewhat recognized but could not place to whom they belonged. Then a scream filled the air, a scream of pain, and he could glimpse a pale body and golden hair, the same blue eyes – and a small bundle resting in thin arms, a newborn child.

Then, there was fire.

The Eye came into view and filled the whole surface in one moment. Frodo gasped, but could not breathe. The Ring was heavy as a stone hanging from thee chain around his neck, coming closer and closer to the water. The Eye was large and staring up directly at him. It was seeing him. Seeing the Ring. Seeing... His knuckles turned white, he was gripping the edge of the bowl hard, trying to fight his enemy. He could not yet breathe. A voice came from nowhere and everywhere, something between a whisper and a scream of rage.

~ I see you ... ~

'Do not touch the water,' came a soft steady voice echoing in his mind, and Frodo stumbled backwards and fell with a cry. The Lady was looking at him calmly. Smoke rose from the surface of the water. The hobbit took long unsteady breaths and air with the scent of trees filled his lungs.

'I know what you saw,' her voice continued, 'for that is also in my mind.'

"I cannot do this," Frodo murmured, "not alone." He stood up on shaking legs; his hands trembled.

Galadriel's face was grave. "To be a Ringbearer is to be alone, Frodo."

And for the first time, Frodo saw something white and shining upon her finger, a star that shone upon her hand it seemed, and then he realized. "You are a Ringbearer," he whispered.

Her voice was smooth and lowered now. A sad smile graced her features. "Aye. I am the carrier of Nenya, one of the Three, and I am its carrier and protector." She paused for a moment, her face turning serious anew. "Sauron suspects this, but knows not of it, not yet. Do you now understand, how your arrival brought us fear? For it is an annunciation of our doom; if your mission fails, we are left for our enemies, weak and undefenses. But if you succeeds and Middle Earth no longer carries the burden of Sauron's dark power, the Three and the elves shall be weakened and Lothlórien shall diminish. We must then sail over to the West, or the elves shall live on and hide, become broken people which are forgotten and forgets...But," she said, fixing her gaze upon the chain. "Come what may; better the world get rid of Sauron's evil and the lands rebuilt, and elves fading. We are sailing, heading for the West, while humans and other races grows into far greater numbers than ours. The time of the elves is over."

Frodo looked at her beautiful face in sadness, for he'd never wish something beautiful and wise and mysterious as the elves to fade from this world. "I would give It to you, fair and brave Lady," said he. "I would give the One Ring to you, for it is a too heavy burden for me!"

Galadriel suddenly laughed, a clear laugh. "Sharp and clear are the eyes of this halfling! For I cannot deny that I long has desired this, deep in my heart, and now thee are giving It to me! How many long years have I not wondered what to happen, if I found the Great Ring in my hands, and now it is within an arm's reach."

She was coming closer, her arm raised, eyes drawn to the object in Frodo's smaller hand. It glowed, whispered of promises and lies and came to tell of clear desires. "And what would you create, would you give it to me..." Her figure seemed to grow, and her form shone of power and graveness which overwhelmed him. Frodo stumbled backwards, in fear. Her voice grew loud and deep, as the oceans and as fearsome; storms raged around her and inside of her, and from her throat rose an ancient voice.

"You would have a queen, not only dark but beautiful; powerful as the dawn; frightful as the sea! All would love me, and despair!"

Her hands raised and her body tall, for Frodo she seemed both impossibly mighty and brave and terrifying, her power and beauty and the light radiating from her and her ring, leaving all else in darkness, made her impossible to worship. Then, her arms fell and her figure seemed to shrink back into natural dimensions. Silence fell in the glade, the storm stilled. Frodo's beating heart slowed down and he calmed, knowing he was out of danger. His fist had clenched and in his palm was the Ring. It burned his skin.

When the Lady spoke again it was a mere murmur, and her gaze was drawn away from Frodo and the Ring, to the forest around, seeking comfort. She was now a simple and fair elf-lady in white, barefoot on soft grass, her voice sad and soft. "I made the test, and I shall fade and sail over to the West. But I shall remain Galadriel."

()()()

Night fell slowly.

Legolas could not sleep; again, he was afraid. Afraid of might what come and what he should do. In a way he was afraid to slay awake, almost more than he was afraid of sleep. The world was growing darker and heavier around him – most of all he wished to sink into an endless dream of light and peace, without time and stress and wars.

_Peace ..._

()()()

This dream was not dark.

He was standing in a glade. Sun warmed his cheeks. Autumn leaves fell from the trees, creating a mat of brown and red and gold upon the mossy grass. Songs of birds thrilled the air, but it was not that drew him. There was a voice, calling a name, and it was his own. It could not be..._But __this __is __a __dream._

"Legolas, Legolas!"

He turned, and there stood one he was shocked to see under falling leaves dressed in dark clothes. A wave of relief, doubt, and happiness welled up over him, and a single word stumbled over his lips in a whisper.

"Egil?"

_But you are..._

Egil stepped forward, taking Legolas' hands in his own, kissing them softly. The lips, the touch, the kiss, it felt real. Real as the wind and the rustle of leaves, the whispers of the trees and the light in his eyes. Real ... _You __cannot __be__..._

It was not real. Doubt, fear and disappointment washed through him, telling him to run away – to wake up. But he could not. It was painful to be here now, now when ...

The other elf regarded him with dark, deep eyes, deep as the forest around them. "Do not fear. It is me, Legolas. Do you not remember me?"

He felt sorrow and tears burn at the back of his eyes, and suddenly embraced the elf hard. Arms encircled him. It felt real, so real, warm and safe. _But __you __are...you __are __not __here. _Fingers buried in his golden locks, and Legolas buried his face in his lover's dark hair. "I'm so happy to see you again," he whispered, a sigh escaping his lips. Disbelief was evident in his blue eyes. "How...?"

A slender hand cupped his face, a finger lain over his lips to silence him. "Hush, let us not speak of it. I am here now. That is all that matters."

_You __are __not __here, _a voice in his mind whispered. "All that matters..."

Egil's other hand sneaked under his tunic, laid over his abdomen. The heat from his body flowed to his own. He knew. Egil's love and life pulsed through him, giving power to the new one growing inside of Legolas' body. "I wish to rest in your arms again, _meleth,_" Legolas murmured with tear filled eyes. This was too good to be a dream and reality was simply impossible, nonexistent. "...Do not leave."

"I am not leaving you, most beloved." His dark eyes swept over Legolas' face. "It was so long time ago...but you are still so beautiful..." He leaned in, but did not kiss him, instead breathed his scent and smelled his hair. "I have dreamed of this moment."

Legolas swallowed. Fear begin to built inside of him, worry tied a knot in his stomach. "Egil-" His lover silenced him with a kiss.

_You __are __not __here, _the voice whispered close to his ear, like a devil telling lies and embedding them in his soul. It hurt. It was so true.

Egil's breath was near, his hand so warm. Real. "I will always love you, Legolas. _Le__melon_..."

His voice was trembling slightly, he was giving in to his weakness and succumb. "Do not go...please, Egil. Not again..."

_You not here; you cannot be here. You were taken away. You are dead..._

Dark eyes, dark voice. It warmed him. A thumb slowly caressed his lips, and his eyes fluttered shut. _Real - __but __not __real._ Suddenly, he did not want this dream to end, to let this continue for eternity. Maybe everything would be washed away and reality of life could be forgotten – he simple was here with Egil. The hand burned on his flesh now, but be wanted to stay like this forever. "I am proud of you, so proud..."

Tears threatened to spill over. Legolas swallowed again, his vision was blurred now. "Egil-"

"Do not cry ... I wish to see you smile again ..." _The __last __time __I __saw __you, __you __cried..._

Legolas blinked and forced a smile, that barely was visible before it faded. "I miss you ..." He swallowed again. "But..." He bit his lip. His lover's gaze was filled with hope, love and adoration. He was proud of him. Egil was proud ... "I am afraid," Legolas whispered barely over a breath, a confession he rarely made but now it was true and his body trembled.

"Do not be," Egil murmured. "I shall always be with you. Right here." He cradled Legolas' hands over his chest, his heart.

"Do not leave, please!" His fingers buried in Egil's robe, he crushed in their embrace. _No, __no..._

Egil leaned in, lips touching soft skin and he breathed deeply. "I have never left you."

And then he was gone.

A cry of panic left his lips. The sun has sunk and the trees had died to stone, his bare feet touched naked earth. It was raining. _"__Egil!__"_

()()()

Legolas awoke alone, crying out his lover's name, tears running down his cheeks. In the back of his mind, he still heard Egil's voice and on his back he felt the ghosts of caresses, like he'd been a child to be comforted. His skin burned, on his stomach, where Egil's hand had seemed to rest.

'Do not cry, meleth,' the voice whispered, though he did not wish to listen to it anymore. This was torture. Why, why? Why was it so unfair? A sob escaped his lips. "Come back, please, Egil, please," he whispered, "I'd rather die with you a thousand deaths, than live alone forever."

Soon he had no more tears to cry, but he found no rest. If he stayed...If he stayed, he could not sleep, only ponder on why he pondered. It would rise horrible memories – Egil, dear Egil...the starless night with not even a moon, the leering orcs, the blood...Egil's broken body resting upon the grass. A broken sob came up his throat. He felt dizzy, he turned and buried his face in the blankets and imagined how it would be if it was Egil's warm body next to him, he was burying his face in his neck and crying in his dark soft hair.

But he wasn't. He was alone.

He closed his eyes and saw Egil's face, those dark eyes, the soft smile. A promise of protection and love. The words still echoed in his heart. "I will never leave you..."

He shivered. His hands trembled; stroking his thumbs over his fingertips, they felt cold. His eyes glazed, and he realized. Raising his eyes looking through the leaves of the roof of the _talan_where he rested, he saw stars in the sky. Maybe one of those were Egil, looking down at him.

He wondered how long it took for an elf to die of grief.


	3. Leaving Lothlórien

**Chapter Three:  
Leaving Lothlórien**

Before they left the Golden Forest, Lady Galadriel led him away from the company one time. Legolas saw in her eyes that she knew about him, and also possible more than he knew himself. And then, even while her eyes remained deep and wise, her form seemed to shrink to a simple she-elf's and he found it easier to look at her and speak to her when her Light had faded to normal dimensions. She smiled, her eyes tracing from his face to his midsection while she spoke and Legolas knew she had knowledge of more than he thought.

"Do you still wish to continue?"

Yes, he did want to continue. He could not abandon the fellowship, not now. The Fellowship was already breaking; for each one they lost, the weaker they grew...And since Gandalf in Moria...Hope had been lost. He could not, even though of his condition, stay behind and simply hope but not know until it was too late if the task had failed or succeeded, had the Ring been destroyed or not. If they decided to make it to Gondor, he could always stay there...

_...For__the__birth._ He hadn't though so far before, that carrying a child also led to birthing. _Nine__months...I__have__nine__months__before__then.__But__long__before__I__will__show;__not__until__then,__perhaps,__I__shall__not__be__able__to__fight._

He nodded his yes; his thoughts were astray again and he felt slightly embarrassed.

The Lady smiled slightly, knowing his thoughts' wanderings. "Good luck, and take care. Know that Fate has something Greater in store for you...and your child."

Legolas looked up with some uncertainty, he had never thought his child something else than luck and a gift born out of the union of Love. And Fate... Fate was a harsh, unforeseen thing, was it not? Except Galadriel, the Lady knew always something at before-hand; she could hint what may come and if both was fearing and relieving. She knew...she knew something, and he was unsure if it was good or bad, if he wanted to know. "I will."

_'I__do__not__understand,__milady,__for__what__great__things__can__be__in__store__for__a__child__born__in__war?'_Was it a harsh destiny, or blessings of a long life in peace?

_'I__cannot__see,'_her deep voice said in his mind,_'though__I__can__feel__it'._ But she said no more and would not explain; leaving his old doubts calmed and new ones arisen. She placed a kiss upon his brow in a farewell, and her eyes were sad, were she hiding something of great pain and grief from him. And at this, his eyes shone of confusion, but he could not ask why.

()()()

Dreams haunted him at night, again, but now, somewhere among the shadows, was a light and between screams of pain there was also laughter of joy, there was deep eyes. There was a clearing, flowers and trees shining in the sun but not shining as much as the laughing child dancing within it.

Deep eyes, sad melancholy eyes, holding a secret.

_Egil..._

Chaos broke out. The child's face of joy turned into the one of fear and laughter grew to screams. Dark shadows came from everywhere, and anywhere, and spears and swords and arrows pierced flesh. He could not see much, for the shadow seemed to grow and the forest seemed to grow old and die, lifetimes passing by in an instant. Roars were joined by battle cries and in the middle of it all, was a scream of rage, not inhuman as the others. There was pain. A sense of forbidding crept upon him. There was fury. And panic. And a deep, deep fear.

The child was gone. The sky had grown dark, like the heavy clouds over Mordor's land had fallen over the woods. Dead woods. The dark creatures lessened, and in the clearing lay a body, a dead body.

_A__corpse__pierced__by__arrows.__A__clearing__filled__with__blood.__Cries__in__the__dark,__to__the__dark.__Cold__pale__hands.__Dark__eyes__staring__ahead__at__nothing.__..._**Egil!****Egil**

His father had said that nothing could be done, that he could not be saved, that he would not be coming back.

His world fell apart. He was alone.

_Now a dead body was there, in front of his eyes. But the man's hair was in a sandy shade of blonde, not black as night's darkest hour, and the wide open eyes were not dark, almost uncolored by anything else, but pale blue. Not Egil, but Boromir._

The Fellowship was breaking. It had already begun.

()()()

Blessings were laid upon them, and gifts given to them. Before they left the beautiful elven settlement, which they would never again gaze upon with such wonder, they grouped themselves so that Aragorn and Frodo and Sam, of course, who'd never leave his side, in one, Boromir, Merry and Pippin in the second, and Legolas and Gimli shared the last boat.

While in Lothlórien, they had together walked under the great trees and talked and found themselves in a fresh friendship still based upon rivaling and arguing, yet there was a trust deep down. Such things, of course, were almost unheard of, having happened only once before in lifetimes, between Narí the dwarf and Celebrimbor the elf, but that is another story for another time.

When rounding a turn of the river, Legolas still felt the Lady's gaze burning upon him and wondered exactly what she knew.

_Does you still wish to continue? Continue on a perilous quest were thee might die, and your child never live? Do you?_

And then, why, did he still...? _Yes._He didn't know. There was a light, a hope, he saw beyond all these dark clouds of shadow and doubt, and the fear, of war and pain, seemed fainter than before. He had to continue, to fight, or else his child might be born in a world of Darkness, controlled by the Dark Lord himself. If they failed...if they failed. He new he would fade then, along with his child, and the rest of his people, dying a cold hopeless death.

If they succeeded, if they threw the Ring back into the deep burning abyss from where it once had come, he would give birth to a child with joy, and the struggle and pain would have been worth it. It was worth it, would be. He wanted anything to make the world a free and safe place for his child.

His child. A memory, a gift. A memory of Egil. Dear Egil... His light, his sun, his star in the world of night. This life within his body was, perhaps, the sunrise, struggling to reach the top of the hill and rise high above the mountains shining clear.

_Egil..._

Words whispered from a dream to him, and he could not suppress a shudder. Regret, guilt, and pain_.__'I__am__so__proud__of__you.'_But how? How could he possible be proud of him? He'd failed him, not been on his guard, been careless and not been able to stop the orcs from coming, the creature of Gollum from escaping, nor his lover from ... from dying.

Why had the Valar been this cruel, why had this new life been gifted at the price of another?

()()()

A body lay broken upon the forest floor, blood weaving a thick mat around the clearing. Through corpses of elves, and orcs, lay there around the base of an old large oak it was that one who caught his eyes, froze his blood in his veins, and then all sense slipped from his mind. He fell into a state of grieving madness.

His star, his hope, his soul, everything was taken from him.

Whispers echoed around the clearing, a weak voice reached his ears and it was his love, calling for him, wanting to say a last goodbye. Wanting...holding...please, no... no, _no,__no_! 'Egil!'

()()()

"Now keep this thing straight laddie, for I'd rather not end up drowning my sorrows in these cold waters," a gruff voice of the dwarf broke through his mind and Legolas was pulled back into reality.

The world seemed gray now, after Lothlórien, after Rivendell, after Mirkwood, after... 'No, not now. Do not return to such thoughts,' he told himself.

Gimli looked melancholy, a strange thing, and there was a deep sorrow in his eyes which Legolas only had seen before when in Moria facing Balin's tomb. He was not so sure when 'the Dwarf' had become 'Gimli' for him; and Gimli must feel the same. He'd been called by name just a few times, while in Lothlórien. At first there, he had been 'the Elf' despite to the other hundreds of elves there. For a moment a smile crept upon his lips over the musings.

"Alas, that I shall never see the Golden Woods and its fair lady again," Gimli sighed and Legolas felt suddenly a deep concern and sympathy with him that had not been there before. He still remembered the look on Gimli's face and the surprised, yes shocked, expressions of the Lórien elves at the Dwarf's request – three strands of the White Lady's golden hair.

"The last thing I laid my eyes upon was the fairest. After this I doubt I shall ever call anything beautiful but her gift. My heart weeps as I shall never see such a sight again. Tell me, Legolas my friend, why did I come on a quest such as this? Surely, master Elrond told in Rivendell of great dangers and pains we would have to overcome but then I thought of darkness and the work of evil and it did not frighten me. Had I known that it was the light and the joyous that would feel worse than the graver wound and thus be our greatest danger, I would never have come. This farewell has inflicted in me a wound beyond healing of mortals and immortals alike."

'He is sounding more and more like an elf by every word,' Legolas mused silently, 'This is a dwarf with words, beyond the stone-builder he was born in body he was born with an elven heart, or at least the part of one.'

Out loud, he said, "Yet you are one of the lucky ones, Gimli son of Glóin, for you have come of will and had the choices, and now and forever shall the memory of Lórien live in your heart, untouched by shadows or the passing of years. For such is life, to find and lose."

The last was murmured so gently it could almost have been a whisper of the wind. A pale elven hand laid on Gimli's shoulder, squeezing gently for the comfort of a friend, and for a moment Gimli realized that he knew nothing but the surface of his companion, an elf, an immortal, and his life was to short to know much more than that. Perhaps, grave wounds and pain had been inflicted upon Legolas as well, well hidden but also kept, not forgotten.

"Perhaps so it is," Gimli said after a pause of silence. "But it shall be nothing more than a mere memory, and memories are only plain compared to life; faint. Perhaps elven dreams are different, I do not know; I am no elf." Then, all of a sudden, he chuckled, like pulled out from an eerie dream.

"Alas, Legolas, look at this! A dwarf crying out his heart to an elf. This must certainly be a sight to behold!"

His words, trying to make a sad moment merrier, brought a smile to Legolas' lips. "Indeed, it is me a wonder I hear such words from a dwarf. If not for your beard, and mayhap your heavy breathing, you would've been passed for an elf!"

At this, Gimli cursed loudly thought his face was open in a grin and dark eyes smiling. "Curse elves and their stiff necks!"

Legolas gave a slight chuckle, the nearest he had come to a laugh in the Fellowship's presence. For even among friends, he would smile, but laughing was rare indeed. Rare since...since...

_Dark eyes._

_Egil._

'Stop it Legolas.' The smile was gone. He set his jaw tight, cursing himself for letting his thoughts be led astray. 'If you show weakness, this loss of self-control, now, they will question you ... Not only Aragorn. Especially Aragorn. And Gimli won't leave the subject, stubborn as he is. But, he is a dwarf.' He was near cursing again. 'Legolas, focus!'

"Laddie?" drifted a deep, dwarfish voice. "Soon I must take that oar from you, if you do not have a certain death wish I do not know of." Look over his shoulder and seeing the look flickering over Legolas' face in regretted what he'd said. "You looked far away," he continued. "Perhaps already you are walking in your elven dreams. I have heard they are as true as the living life and elves slip out and in of them in a moment. This will certainly make this journey a boring one."

Legolas cleared his eyes and realized that he their small boat had been caught by the strong stream and almost crashed into Boromir's boat ahead and the rocks at both sides of the river. "I am sorry," he said apologetically. "I was lost in thought." But he said no more of it, and Gimli did not press him on the matter.

Boromir ... Legolas feared for him. Boromir soon would die, if his dream yet again proved to be true. He could not do anything to hinder it, he had tried to stop it each time he'd dream of anyone's doom and he had failed each time. Brother, Egil, Gandalf. 'This is why you should not find friends among mortals', a voice warned in his mind, 'for it only brings you pain.' But, in some way, for him everything felt mortal, everyone would die and pass one day. Even elves, ents, and istari, and yes, even the Valar would one day perish – one day everything would end. 'They were all mortals... We all are.'

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but his focus remained still with friends and family long since dead and pain crept upon his mind slowly.

Memories were hard, deep, and there. Most were cold and held no comfort.

_Mother._

He remembered lying cradled in his _naneth_'s arms, crying from a nightmare, and she would murmur nonsense and sing to him. Oh, how he loved to hear her sing, her beautiful voice raised in elven melodies.

It was in moments like these he wished he was mortal, a man, maybe none of greater interests, simply one of many. Then he would at least know that one day, the pain would stop, and it would not be long time. For mortals, dreams were perhaps plain … faint and faraway, something uncertain. Not so clear. Then his pain would not had been so clear, so near, so sharp as it was now.

'...Perhaps elven dreams are different, I do not know; I am no elf,' Gimli had said.

_'You__wish__not__to__know,__Gimli__my__friend,'_Legolas thought. _'__You__wish__not__to__know.__'_

()()()

They traveled for long hours, sometimes in deep silence except from the sound of water always moving about them and the forests on both sides of them. Forests grew to plains and hills and then into solid rock, rising up forming large walls on both sides. He felt trapped, like in a cage, despite to the fresh air and wind on his face, the waves rocking against the boat and Gimli's complaining sometimes in front of him. Sometimes silent, sometimes talking softly, they traveled.

Legolas shifted slightly. He wanted, from time to time, just to stop. He was more weary than he'd thought. But he knew why, but mentioning it was nothing he dared to think of. Not yet. He had, in time, yes...But not now.

'You are safe,_penneth_.'

()()()

Egil leaned in and kissed his temple. "You look so worried, my love. Are you unwell?" Sudden panic was in his voice and his face was filled with concern as he murmured. "Are you hurt? Eru, Legolas, what has happened? You look pale ... cold."

Legolas shook his head. "No. I-I must tell you something ... but not here." The room was empty of people, an important precaution the two always made sure when being alone together, but right now, Legolas felt like even the slightest breath would be overheard, and he was afraid.

So he led his confused lover by hand to their chamber, closed the door behind them and took both his hands in his own. He felt hesitant. Egil's deep eyes seemed to pierce his very soul and leave him naked where he was. He met his gaze. It was time to let it go, not to hide it anymore. I twas no pint in hiding it, not once he would begin to show.

Egil pulled back in shock when he saw what lay hidden in the secrets of his lover's very soul.

"Legolas..." he whispered, and his lover's eyes shone of both pride and fear. Egil's hands trailed down to lay on his abdomen. Panic continued to rise within him with every heartbeat. Legolas had probably not told anyone, until now.

Tears formed in Legolas' eyes. His voice was weak as a wounded child's and Egil laid his arms around him. "Oh, Egil...I am so afraid...What shall I do?" But he had no answer, only held him tighter; he would not let go.

Legolas was with child.

()()()

Voices drifted over the waters, and he heard it was one of the younger hobbits. Young Peregrin, he believed, but he was not so sure. They were so young in his eyes, so innocent. They had not seen the pure evil that laid around the lands outside the Shire, their home, the distrust and dangers and pain there was to face. Not yet. It saddened him, for no such innocent creatures should go through this. 'But they chose this,' a voice in him reminded him. 'They are young and curios, and will learn and grow faster than you think.'

"Merry?"

"Yes, Pippin?" The hobbit's voice held slight annoyance; the two reminded him for a second of Elladan and Elrohir, two brothers too close to be taken apart.

"I wondered if ... If you would sing a song for me?"

There was a slight pause, and then he heard Boromir encourage the hobbit. They were merry creatures. Mayhap they knew no songs of ill tidings, and a song of joy would lighten their hearts... Legolas sighed. He had not heard or sung a song of joy for a very long time; even the songs in Rivendell had been melancholy and filled with the elves' ever-present sadness.

"I have no songs for ill times...or hard journeys. Only of the Green Dragon's ale, which is the best."

Two voices rose and drifted over the water in a merry song, which would fit better at an inn, dancing and singing while feasting with friends. A smile broke Sam's and Frodo's faces, knowing the Shire-born songs by heart and joining. Aragorn's frowning face broke into a grin and it was only in his eyes the worry and burdens of leadership still were. Boromir laughed and Gimli with him. Their boats now were almost next to each other in line. They knew they had to be careful and after some time, they had to hush the hobbits' voices.

Legolas allowed himself the smallest of smiles. A merry people, indeed, so joyful and innocent, unspoiled by the darkness of the world.

The song ended with the hobbits clapping hands and their journey now was lighter it seemed, and they laughed and talked among themselves, and each one found themselves singing a song or talking of their own people: Gimli's voice told tales of Moria, it's light and beauty as it once had been and should be, Boromir spoke of the White City, the pearls upon the buildings in the morning sun and the high tower of Echelion. Their light mood sank slightly as time passed, they wished not to disturb the peace for too long. Aragorn sang of Lúhien and Beren, and Legolas felt his friend's inner turmoil, for it was as if he spoke of himself and Arwen Undomíel, mortal and immortal loving in despair and hope.

Then their eyes settled on him. He had been silent for a very long time. For that was how he was, whom he was. He knew not many songs of happiness, the tales of the elves and his peoples were sad and most of them tragedies. Then he thought of his friends, of Mirkwood, and of Mithrandir. As a child he was fascinated by the wizard whom would now and then come and go as he pleased through their lands, and he'd been a mere elfling when he'd met him the first time. A wild elfling whom could not be hold trapped inside palace walls but longed to run ad go far and wide and see the world. There was a song, which he had learned then, when his thirst of adventure was the one of a curios child's.

His voice was low, slightly unsure, like the sound of trees in the wind. Softly he sang, and some of the inner doubt he had kept for so long inside himself slipped past his mask and flowed into the words past his lips. He both regretted it, and welcomed it. Afterwards, he scowled himself – why could he simply not keep his mouth shut?

Perhaps, they had not hope faded yet, but partly for him it had. He was torn.


	4. Run to distant Lands

**Chapter Four:**

**Edge of the Forest**

Too late. It was too late.

It had begun with a fight, a battle between Man, Elf, Dwarf and Halfling, against hordes of Uruk-hai, the evil twisted creation of Saruman. Time was endless. For him, it all had been done in a fuzzy slow world were he was aware of slashing, fighting, killing, shouting, cutting through flesh in a deadly dance, but could not recall what was happening, what moves he did. Uruks died by his hand but he knew not until they lay slain at his feet. From somewhere rippled a clear tone of a horn through the forest, and a shout pierced the air.

"The Horn of Gondor!" Aragorn had called, and then the ranger was gone from sight. Legolas continued his fighting in a haze.

But now it was too late. Boromir lay pale and still, pierced by arrows, upon the ground. Dead, upon a mattress of blood and corpses. Aragorn lamented over the fallen comrade and Legolas watched in silence. Again, he had failed. Failed from protecting a comrade, someone whom perhaps could have become a friend closer than a simple traveling-companion. But such things were lost to the wind and the rain to howl of now, and he stood silent as a failure.

He should have been there. He should have known. He should have _warned him!_

A failure...and only a misfortune failure. His whole life had been, somewhat, a curse. Perhaps life had been better without him. Different. Maybe some loved ones would be alive.

_'Egil ...'_

The hobbits had been taken, two of them, while Frodo and Sam were gone, but he suspected that they were making it for the easten shore alone, to take it upon themselves the long journey to Mordor...and the Fires of Mount Doom.

Gimli was at his side, watching in silent grief and at loss at words, slowly coming closer. Aragorn stood slowly. Movements, slow movements, around him – Legolas' mind registered this but he could not make his own limbs work.

The silence continued as they tended their fallen comrade's dead body and lain it in one of the boats of Lórien, together with weapons, both his own and those of his slaughtered enemies, and the broken Horn of Gondor split in two. When the dead floated away, caught by the stream and drawn toward the waterfalls of Andúin, Aragorn sang his lament, but Legolas found not the heart to do so himself. His heart was heavy, and he would weep and grieve for the fallen someday. But now he found not the energy. No energy to move, to speak, to do anything but watch.

()()()

He could recall a night, many months ago, in a garden outside his room. A beautiful garden, with the old tree which he had grown himself. He sat there, in the warm night, which was so silent, side by side of a dearest friend.

"Legolas?" Elladan's voice drifted to him,and his friend's tone was the one of concern.

"I-I cannot tell you. I should not worry or burden you with-"

"You worries me beyond anything when I see you in pain but cannot do anything!" His voice rose slightly by each word; anger rose but it faded slightly when he met Legolas' gaze. "Legolas, tell me, please."

Legolas looked away, fixed his gaze upon one of the lanterns hanging in the far end of the garden and played with his golden hair between his thumb and index finger. Where to start? What to say?

"There were corpses. And shadows, shadows surrounding me. I cannot see their faces, but my heart hurts each time I do. There is a dark haired elf among them. I saw not his face, but..." He swallowed. It could not be Elladan or Elrohir. Wasn't allowed to be. He felt the arm around him tighten. "A-And then the forest was burning ... creatures I could not distinguish were all around the dead clearing. The fire grew and-" Again he trailed of. His voice was slightly shaky and shallow, it was hard to breathe, the pain in his chest seemed to tighten. It felt like he was proclaiming the death doom of his best friend. "Elladan I ... I saw ..." Blue eyes met Elladan's own and he had never before seen such fear in them.

"I saw Him! The Eye! Sauron ... Sauron is back and stronger than ever before. He stared at me and I was more afraid then I have ever been before."

Elladan held him closer. Had the situation been different, Legolas would have pushed him away and teased him for being so over-protective and all acting like a big brother. Right now, he sat still in the half-elf's embrace welcoming the support and clinging to it. "But he cannot catch you, little brother_._ He cannot. I will not let it happen, ever."

Had he fallen asleep in his friend's embrace or simply been sitting there, in silence with his brother in all but blood, he did not remember. But Elladan's murmured vows warmed his heart and he was in comfort for the night.

()()()

They were running, through woods up and down over hills, to open plains, mile after mile. Running fast, following the Uruk-hai's trail for rescuing the hobbits from torture and certain death.

_Death ... _

Legolas found no rest on the journey, the little they allowed themselves, at fear of dreaming of the innocent creatures as he remembered them being dead, slain or tortured, their lives ended in a moment, seeing their corpses on the ground, like Boromir's. He did not allow himself to rest, and guarded instead over his companions as they slept, murmuring elven songs and lost in memories. But sometimes, when running, he was only half aware of his body moving and his feet touching the ground, running, running, and his mind had strayed with or without his will to distant places and deep, lush forests.

They ate little, food was a luxury. They only carried small amounts of lembas bread with them, and the elven food gave them new fresh strength, but after a while they started to long for comfortable beds and solid hot meals, sitting by the fire of the hearth. Legolas wanted to lay in a warm embrace of a lover, but when these sort of thoughts crept upon his mind he pushed them away – how could he think of such when there where mush more important tasks at hand?

For three days time they had chased the Uruks without any sign for the halflings. The monsters were running as if the whips of their masters were behind them, and the pursuit seemed hopeless. But ahead, Aragorn stopped suddenly, picking up something from the ground. Legolas' head snapped up and his mind and eyes focused when he heard the man's voice. "Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall." And in his hand he held the glittering green leaf that once had been attached to one of the hobbit's cloaks.

"They may still be alive!" Legolas gasped, and hope rose slightly within them and their step seemed lighter. They were off at even more speed, knowing that at least one of the halflings were alive, and together, they would save him...or them, hopefully. "Come on, Gimli!" he called for his friend. "We are gaining on them!"

()()()

_The forest was thick and dark, in the shadows lurked anger and hidden secrets. It was old...very old. Full of ageless wisdom, pouring of silent anger...Yet the trees seemed to be screaming, in his mind, exploding almost. It left his fragile and shaken to know such power. Around him...yet, he felt not trapped._

_A white light appeared among the branched, upon the slight hill in the forest. It was light as a clear star and his elven eyes could not pierce it. There was a voice...a deep voice...It was like a distant memory: he recognized it, he realized. As the light faded, he saw a face. It was surreal. Impossible. It shouldn't be..._

_He'd seen Mithrandir fall with his own eyes...yet the voice, the eyes full of wisdom staring back at him. "I come back to you now...at the turn of the tide," said the istari._

_There was a battle: masses of black creatures fighting men upon a stone wall. Rain fell like arrows from the sky, echoes of pain and blood lingering in the air. War had come. War was there._

_Far away in a distant dark horizon filled with smoke rose a tall, black tower. _

()()()

Legolas awoke from his vision when he heard Aragorn cry out. He had been sleep-walking, as Gimli would have said it, again. He shook his head in dismay. Continuing like this and his guard would be put so low that the first orc he would see soon would also be his last.

"Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

Even that had become lost to him! He cursed under his breath for his own blindness and focused his senses. Ahead were a group of riders, and he saw their hair was yellow in the sun, they were armed with spears glimmering in the sunshine and many wore helmets upon their heads. Quickly, the group turned and surrounded the three friends. What Legolas understood was the leader rode up to them, and his voice was tight with dismay. For a short moment he met the man's gaze and there he saw anger and confusion. What drove the man was not only the war...

"What business does a man, a dwarf and an elf have in Riddermark? Speak quickly!" the man demanded. His voice was young; the sternness in his tone forced.

Aragorn held up his hands in a sign of peace, but the spears around them were not lowered. At his side, Gimli's face held a grim expression and the dwarf spoke first. "Tell me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine." The tone was not the most friendliest, which caused irritation flash in the rider's eyes.

The man dismounted. "I would have cut off your head, dwarf, were it but a little higher from the ground."

These words toward his friend flared up some hidden flame of anger within Legolas, and he drew his bow within the same breath the words had been spoken. The movement was fast, done in the blink of an eye. "You would die before your stroke fell!" Spears around him came closer

Gimli was slightly shocked over this reaction. This was surely a big step in their friendship ... If not the damned elf got them all killed first, that is. The heated moment was silent. Man and elf stared at each other, holding the other's glare, until Aragorn stepped between and signed Legolas to lower his bow. He did so reluctantly, and the icy glare in his eyes did not fade. Actually, he knew not really himself why he felt such anger and dislike. At another time, this might have been humorous, an elf defending a dwarf! Never heard of before!

"We come in peace, and are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your King. I am Aragorn, and this is my friends Gimli son of Glóin and Legolas from Mirkwood." Aragorn's voice held not such feelings as Legolas' or Gimli's had.

"Théoden no longer recognized friend from foe," said the man, who was a Marshal of the Mark, and took of his helmet and his yellow hair fell over his shoulders. The spears around them finally were taken away, at the captain's signal. "Not even his own kin." For this man was Éomer, sister-son of the king of Rohan, and Aragorn knew this, he realized. But there was both slight despair and heated hatred in Éomer's eyes.

"Saruman poisoned the King's mind and has claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those who are loyal to Rohan and for that we have been banished." He leaned closer to Aragorn, but the ranger did not flinch. He held sympathy for the man who had lost his home for the sake of defending it. "The White Wizard goes here and there, it is said, as an old man hooded and cloaked," Éomer continued, his voice low. He walked slowly toward them: his gaze found the elf. Both suspicion and great fascination gripped him at the sight of such a beautiful proud creature.

"And everywhere, his spies pass through our nets."

The elf held sternly his eyes and the man, feeling pierced by meeting the gaze of a Firstborn, looked back at Aragorn and the dwarf. There was something about the elf that both unsettled him and made him wonder. An elf with mortals? What business drove him and his company here?

Aragorn spoke up, feeling more and more tension between the two. "We are no spies. We track a group of Uruk-hai west across the plains. They took two of our friend capture."

At this, Éomer's face softened, the slightest only. "The Uruks are destroyed, for we slaughtered them this night."

"But there were two hobbits with them! Two hobbits!" Gimli's voice was desperate, not as Legolas had heard it before. Realization hit him, either the hobbits had somehow escaped, or they were...

"They are small, only children in your eyes," Aragorn explained.

Éomer shook his head. "We left none alive and burned the bodies in a pile." Saying this he pointed behind him, and between the riders Legolas could see smoke rise in the horizon. Air seemed to have lost his lungs. Dead, the halflings were dead? It could not be. He lowered his eyes to the ground. Their chase, day and night running across the lands, had been for nothing._ A failure..._

"Dead?" he heard Gimli say.

Éomer looked upon the three travel-worn friends with sympathy. "I am sorry," he murmured. Then, suddenly, after a short silence of mourning, he whistled loudly and called, "Hausfeld, Arod!"

Two saddled horses but without riders walked up to them, recognizing the voice of the man and obeying it. Éomer nodded to them, and Legolas took the reins of the white horse, Arod. "May there horses be you to better fortune than their last masters," the man continued and mounted his own steed. "Search for your friends but do not trust the hope. It has forsaken these lands."

Then he and his company were riding away, north, over the plains of Rohan.

Gimli refused to ride 'any of those reckless beasts' as he had put at first, but Legolas offered him to share horse with him, and with the help of Aragorn elf and man managed to convince the stubborn dwarf to mount. When Gimli held about his waist hard, in fear the dwarf refused to admit, Legolas tensed. One of the dwarf's hands tugged slightly at his tunic and Legolas felt the fabric stretch over his ever-so-slightly swollen abdomen.

Soon he had to tell them...Tell somebody. They would notice anyway, the day he could not hold his temperament in check or his clothing, the day his stomach was so swollen the man and dwarf would clearly see. He was pregnant. It had been hard from the beginning to keep it a secret..the sicknesses could sometimes come and he hated it.

It Lothlórien, the Lady had given him an own chamber, knowing in an instant looking at him of his condition. But out here in the wild, especially running day and night without rest, it was hard. Sometimes, he felt like he would collapse. But he had to keep going. Anything to be moving, moving away...Maybe he was a coward, fleeing like this. Fleeing his father's kingdom, his father's wrath...Someday, Thranduil would find out. It was when and how. He could not hide forever...keep it a secret. Thranduil would find out, one way or another.

_And then ..._

_'Think not of it now,'_ he reminded himself. But the words could not sooth the fear that built up inside of him. Fear of what his father could, no would, do. Fear that his child would be taken from him. He could not let it happen. Never.

But right now, the dwarf did not seem to notice anything. He heard some curses leave Gimli's mouth about the horse. But of course, Gimli was a dwarf, and dwarves were no creatures with fondness of riding.

()()()

The pile was yet warm and at some places burning. Flesh and clothing was been burning to ashes, scattered. Smoke rose still high in the sky, like a clear signal – the men had done this without caring of being noticed or angering the trees; they had cut fresh wood from there to lit the large pile. Weapons and pieces of armor were spread about the battlefield, just at the edge of the large dark forest net to it.

The presence of trees lightened Legolas' heart. But these trees were not young, and they spoke slowly and loud and held wisdom and age. And anger ... He could feel it even here, outside their large shadows. His heart wished more than anything to go in there in delight and simply forget the rest of the world, as the wood-elf he were, but right now they had more important tasks at hand.

"One of their wee belts," Gimli said, holding up something black he had found in the pile. He looked upon both elf and man, like for having them confirming his words. There were none needed.

The halflings were...they were dead and lost to them now.

Aragorn cried out his rage and despair, sinking onto his knees. All this, all had been hopeless. Legolas wanted to give and have comfort, but stood still murmuring silent elven prayers, when Aragorn started to search the ground. The eyes of the rangers could see things that the elf could not read; did it even matter?

"A hobbit lay here. And here...another." And as a candle is lit again, energy started to build up within the man again and he started searching, seeing, reading, crawling and walking over the ground following the hobbits' tracks. Legolas and Gimli followed him on weary feet.

"Their tracks leads away from the battle...!" Aragorn's voice almost sang with new hope. They may still be alive! His pace was a slowly running one now, and Legolas follow the ranger's gaze. "Into ... Fangorn forest."

Legolas' heart sang. He had heard tales of course, of the great but dark Fangorn forest...But never before had he seen it with his own eyes. It was something great to behold in a wood-elf's eyes, even thought horror could be read in both the ranger's and the dwarf's.

"Fangorn?" the dwarf gasped. "What madness drove them in there?"


	5. The White Wizard

**Chapter five:  
The White Wizard**

Fangorn forest was thick. Filled with emotions so deep that he was overwhelmed. He both feared them slightly in great respect, but longed to have time to wander here for days and days, under the shadows of the trees, learn how they spoke and understand them. An anger so deep it chilled his bones was so close it was almost so that they could grasp it. But all this age around him made him feel young again. Slowly, as he passed, the trees reached out with their minds to his and there was a tingle of recognition and joy of having a First-born in the woods. No, not only one...

They felt the soul of his child and comforted it and him. He relaxed.

_~ Little one ... ~ _The trees' voices were both deep and light, strong and shallow, surrounding him. Their souls reached out to touch him. So many long forgotten years had passed since they lastly had ever seen an elf.

He and Gimli had left the tracking to Aragorn, though there was not much for the man to see. Large, strange prints, several inches deep at some places, were seen everywhere they went. Something strange had happened here ... None had never seen such tracks before, though Legolas, when he thought of them, realized this must be something old and told only of in tales. The Ents...an Ent, maybe, had walked here. Tree-herders. There was also orc blood but not a body, as they had found yet anyway. Deeper and deeper they went. Soon they came to a stream were there were clear tracks in the riverbank's soft sand. After hobbit feet, one slightly larger than the other. They were alive! But the signs were two days old ...

Legolas hoped it was not too late, that the halflings were safe. He swore to kill with his bare hands had something happened to the small creatures, and then was surprised over his own reaction. They hadn't found any signs of that the hobbits were dead, or hurt. They had to be safe...He tried to talk with the trees but their answers were cryptic and their language raw and old. Many of the trees did not speak in words at all, resting instead in a deep but angered slumber. They were waking up...

_~...They are safe ... Fret not, young one. They are under guard. So are thou and thee little one...~_

They continued their search. Time passed but they had lost its track. "The air is so thick and close in here..." Gimli commented somewhere behind him.

"This forest is lighter than Mirkwood, though old ... very old. Filled with memories ... and anger." Somewhere around sounds echoed from the murk trees, like the creaking of a boat in storm or bent wood, deep voices lurking among the shadowed leaves. "The trees are speaking to each other!"

Gimli had grabbed for his axe, but both man and elf gave him a warning look. "Lower you axe, master dwarf; in here it shall not harm any tree," Legolas reminded him.

The dwarf eased his grip on the weapon and reluctantly lowered it from doing any harm. "I still has a bad feeling of this...There is an evil here, and hatred towards everything on two legs. I say we hurry and leave – or at least I would have if not for the hobbits."

"Not towards elves and men, or dwarves if you let them, Gimli; it is the orcs they hate, for they knows naught of forests and burn and hack where they go." He looked from the dwarf to the nature around. Again they were moving; Aragorn was following new tracks. "When this war is over, I would gladly come back here and spend time under the trees. I have never before felt as young as I do now. But feel the tension in the air...These trees have anger and strength."

"You are in every way a wood-elf, though all elves are strange creatures," Gimli said. "Running over plains mile after mile and to plum into a deep ill-willed forest, after all these miles and you would burst out singing at once when you find a tree taller than yourself." He shook his head but smiled. "Yet it lightens my heart, to know that your words may be true and I am not alone in this thick undergrowth. But have your bow nearby as I have my axe, but not to use upon trees of any sort," he added, giving the nearest one a long weary look. It was a large old tree, its trunk almost as thick as one of the stone-pillars of Moria had been.

Suddenly Legolas called for Aragorn, speaking in his native tongue, and Gimli cursed the elf for speaking so that he could not understand. "_Aragorn, nad no ennas_!"

The man came to Legolas' side, where the elf stood, his elves eyes piercing the surroundings. "_Man cenich_?" the ranger asked. His hand was slowly straying to his weapon on instinct. Already, Legolas was drawing his bow. He spoke silently, but loud enough for the two others to hear. The dwarf also had come to his side.

"The White Wizard is approaching." His blue eyes flickered out to the forest.

A sudden stillness settled upon them. Saruman...Devilry still haunted them in their heels. They did not realize that breath had been taken from them; their silence was deeper than ever before. Gimli clenched his axe tightly; Aragorn began to unsheathe his sword. Legolas' frame was tense as the bowstring on which he had knocked an arrow.

"Do no let him speak," Aragorn whispered. "He will place a spell upon up."

It was as sudden like an explosion. They turned but light blinded them and they could not see the figure cloaked within it. The sword in Aragorn's hands began burning and he let it fall to the forest floor. The knife slipped from Gimli's grasp was shattered into pieces of metal. Legolas cave a cry, the light starting to fade from the figure, and his arrow was sent like a bolt of fire up in the sky. Recognition was strong, and joy shone on his face. "Mithrandir! Mithrandir!"

Aragorn looked upon him in disbelief. "This must be a trick for my eyes. It is impossible... I saw you, you fell..." Gimli had sunk down to his knees with a hand before his eyes. But Legolas held no doubts, Gandalf was back and alive, but he was now shining in white.

Then so they were told how the istari had been defeated the Balrog of Morgoth, but been reborn into his new form, Gandalf the White. Such as Saruman should have been. The hobbits were safe, having passed by the day before yesterday, and now under the care of Fangorn himself – Treebeard, the eldest of creatures walking upon Arda's ground. They were guarded and well. As for Frodo, Gandalf knew not more than that he was alive.

"But not alone - we believe that Sam went with him," Legolas said.

Gandalf's eyes lit up and a smile spread over his face. "Oh, did he now? Really? This were news for me, but nothing that surprises me. Good, very good! You lightens my heart, but first you must tell me of whole your journey."

When they in turn told of the battle upon Emun Muil, the capturing of Merry and Pippin and the death of Boromir the old said not much but then sighed. "I think of what happened poor Boromir, and it was a bitter end for such a warrior, a hero and lord among men. I knew not of it then, but Galadriel told me he were in danger, though he escaped it at the time. But I am yet glad – it was not for nothing out tow young hobbits were brought to Fangorn's depths. For their arrival was like the one how pebbles falls and brings a whole landslide in motion. Just as we sit here and speak I can feel the first tremors."

And they spoke on, and night fell. Around them, the forests groaned. Never before had something so ancient seemed too restless to Legolas. In the end, Mithrandir told more of how he escaped Moria and also sent them words for the Lady of the Woods. To Aragorn a message was sent, and to Gimli Lockbearer as well, and at last Gandalf turned his wise eyes upon Legolas. The elf was hesitant but met his gaze. One day, no, very soon ... Soon Gandalf would find out and then Aragorn and Gimli. They would know ... know about his secret. He did not know if he was ready for it now, yet. It felt too early, yet too late.

There was a moment of silence, before Mithrandir spoke. "To Legolas she left these words:

_'Legolas Greenleaf long under tree: In joy thou hast lived. _

_Beware of the Sea! _

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, _

_thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.'"_

He made another pause as if thinking over something deeply, and then looked up and continued.

"_'But turn to land once more and thou_

_will still remember thy Anor.'_

Not even I understands these cryptic words, yet, at least," he added in a murmur, mostly to himself. The elf's sharp ears picked up the words.

Legolas frowned slightly. _My_ s_un? _Galadriel; she knew of course, Celeborn knew and soon the word would spread and every elf and tree and animal would know. The trees would sing in joy, it was so rare with elven children. But he could not read the Lady's cryptic message, but he remembered the words well; maybe one day he would met her again and she would explain. Or the future and what it held in store would show him ...

Gandalf, having been quiet again for a moment, lifted his head and said, "We must leave now, and make haste. To Edoras we must go. Too must time has already passed." And he swept to his feet and they walked to the forest's outer edges again.

Legolas thought back at their horses, which they at been forced to leave at the edge of the forest. He had not been to the lands of Rohan before yet he knew well that journeying to Edoras by foot would take days. "It would be a long and tire walk," he said to Gandalf once the group had reached the open plains.

Gandalf just smiled and said, "Why, not shall we walk, shall we."

He gave a long clear whistle, and not moments later, the Three Hunters heard the sound of hooves carried over the eastern wind. Aragorn laid his ear pressed against the ground and listened, while Legolas stared off in the distance. There, a white spot was running towards, them, no three, and it were horses! He recognized two of them, the dark horse Hausfeld and his friend Arod, but not the third riding fast and strong ahead, greater than any horse he had seen before.

"That is one of the _Mearas_, if my eyes are not enchanted," he said softly as the pale, silver-maned stallion recognized Mithrandir and slowed his speed. He lowered his head and gently nuzzled the wizard's neck. These were friends of old and had seen much together. "Shadowfaxe is his name," Gandalf told them.

They mounted, Aragorn on Hausfeld and Legolas and Gimli again sharing Arod. Gimli's hands were not so close to his stomach this time which calmed him a little- But the dwarf was felt how the elf's whole frame was tense, pale long fingers sightly fingering on the reins in his hands, and the horse felt its master's nervousness even while they rode quickly over the plains.

When the line of trees disappeared behind them from all sight except Legolas' and perhaps also Gandalf's, Legolas cast a last longing look over his shoulder and remembered still their voices in his mind and wished to be back there soon, under their cover. Almost like ... like home.

_~ ... Fret not, young one, fret not ... ~_

()()()

Smoke rose from far away. He could spot shadows...A great darkness had spread over these lands, pain and grief and madness. War was ahead, it was tensing the air even here in the wild, with grass whipping in the wind and their horses galloping over the solid ground. When he mentioned this to his short companion behind him, the dwarf snorted. "You really are an elf, in every way, so very melancholy and poetic. Were you unarmed and surrounded by orcs you would try to scare the beasts away with a song, or something worse."

Legolas couldn't hold back a small chuckle of mirth. At least Galadriel's words had enlightened the dwarf, whom held his axe in a tight grip. "Yet here you ride with me, friend Gimli, and surely would not complain over some merry singing? Any other dwarf would be lagging behind on his own short legs before choosing riding with this elf."

"Throw me off this beast before you do that, lad," the dwarf said but grinned.

Legolas looked slightly over his shoulder to look at Gimli's face. "Shall I try, my friend?"

"If I fall, I'll drag you down with me, and those two wouldn't wait for us nor would this reckless beast you call a horse, and it would not only be a dwarf lagging behind our grumpy fellow," Gimli said, nodding towards Gandalf who was riding at left right side, slightly ahead of them.

Legolas smiled wide, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Speak quietly, master dwarf, if you do not wish to anger our 'grumpy fellow' and make him turn you into something...unnatural."

"Then you of course mean he'd grow me tall with pointy ears."

"Watch your words, dwarf!" Legolas warned but his eyes were soft. "Maybe I should still try to push you off the beast you are sitting upon just to have a merry laughter?"

"You'd rather not dare, pointy-eared princeling. Remember I still have my axe near, and you do not wish it in unwelcome places."

And so, they rode on and the soft friendly bantering continued, while the sun was steadily sinking in the horizon. Night came slowly, filled with silence except for the wind and their horses' hoof-beats. In the hours of darkness Gandalf let them just a few hours of rest. The old wizard stood resting against his staff staring out in the horizon, thinking deeply while the other's slept. The horses were free to eat and rest.

After some time, though, he heard so very soft footsteps behind him and turned. It was Legolas, walking up to the istari with a small smile. Even thought it was night, the stars' dimmed light made it possibly for the elf to make out the forms of his friends. He ha woken after just an hour, maybe less, unable to sleep. He was more tired than ever before, but it was not just physically. He didn't know why he could not sleep, why he interrupted the obviously mind-wandering wizard in his thoughts, and did not simply lay back and try to rest.

"I hope I am not interrupting your thoughts, Mithrandir," he said softly.

Mithrandir just smiled and sat down on the ground, patting it in an indication for the elf to sit down as well. "An old man always talk with the wisest, as usual, but this old man would need some younger company." The elf sat down next to the wizard.

Legolas laughed silently, minding not to wake the others. "I am hardly young anymore, Mithrandir." He looked from the wizard over the dark plains and the sky above. The smile faded into a slight frown which Gandalf could not disguise but he could see the pain in the elf's shining eyes. Only an elf's eyes could still shine like that, even while in the night, he mused.

"There is something on your heart, is it not, young Greenleaf? A worried expression has painted your face for long, all since I gave you the Lady's words and longer so I believe."

"I..." He did not know what to say. What was there to say? Nothing. Nad everything. He did not know how, or where to start. "It is so ... complicated. I am not sure if I can explain or not," he said slowly, turning back to look at Gandalf. "Mithrandir, there is so much death around us even now and it feels like this Quest has just started. I cannot still understand this."

"This?" Gandalf asked. Legolas was a friend of him, but it was not often the elf opened himself up to anyone, not even him. He held his facades even around Aragorn and Gimli, not only because of his status as a Prince and the importance of this mission, that they had to be strong. "Is it the dreams?"

"Yes...and no. It is so much. With Boromir..." There was a hesitant pause. "With Boromir's death, your fall in Moria...The halflings are out there, somewhere, maybe safe and maybe not, and I barely know them yet I feel a desperate need to know they are all right. The dreams ... They returned to me just before you fell. I know I should have told you then, perhaps we would all made it to Lothlórien. And I knew that Boromir would die, I knew how, and yet I was too late to stop it. Why didn't I warn him? I..."

His voice trailed off. Realization dawned upon him what he just had said, how weak he sounded, how lost. He searched the wizard's face. "There is just so much loss, Mithrandir," he whispered. "Is there not any hope?"

"Of course there is," Gandalf said with a warm smile. "There is always a little hope in the world, no matter how miserable it is."

Legolas pondered his words. "I do not wish harm to any of you. The dreams, Mithrandir, they frighten me more now than they did in my whole childhood. I cannot stop them. I know I should...do something, anything! But I can't, I can't." He was staring off at the distance again, hands in his lap, his voice low and just so audible that Gandalf could hear it. Silence and darkness was all around them like a thick sheet. Speaking felt like intruding.

Why did he say this anyway? He had to simply endure it anyway, until...until when, exactly? Even if the war one day was over it didn't mean his dreams would stop. And Egil...Egil wouldn't come back, no one dead would come back. Why? He could have spoken to no one, then he wouldn't have to speak of it at all, then he would not be reminded so sharply. And he didn't want to be pitied by the old wizard. He didn't ... He didn't know what he wanted.

"They will come and go, these dreams," Gandalf spoke quietly breaking his eerie. "No power I know of can stop them, but so is how Destiny appears to want it. Legolas, you should mayhap not try to ignore them and be silent, but tell us. Lives can be saved. You have friends with you, remember that." With those words Gandalf lit his pipe, which Legolas first now realized he had, and started blowing rings of smoke.

Legolas shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts. Maybe that was his problem, all these thoughts. He wondered if Aragorn or Gimli also felt confused, so ... lost in minds as he was now. Were the dreamland of Mortals very different from the elves'? Gimli had said they were so so alive and real as elven dreams...That would be soothing. If just one night of peace would be let to him. That was all he wanted.

He was glad that Gandalf had not said anything of his pregnancy, not even hinted at such a ting. Or perhaps...he knew. He knew! He was almost sure now, the istari would of course know. Any elf looking him in the eye would see; Gandalf was no exception. Had Men or Dwarves had this ability he knew he would be in serious trouble.  
He said no more that night and Gandalf did not either. While the wizard finished his pipe-weed and whistled for the horses, Legolas went to rose his comrades from their sleep. It was still hours before dawn and the elf could not hold back a chuckle when he heard Aragorn curse his eyes' inability to see in the dim darkness.

Hours passed by and still they rode hard. Gimli was slowly falling back into sleep and sat nodding. He was about to indeed fulfill his words of falling off the horse and dragging Legolas with him, as his arms were locked about the elf's waist, had Gandalf not slowed his horse slightly and grabbing him, hindering from falling and shoved him awake.

Legolas relaxed again, though he could not but worry when the dwarf's hands rested over his slightly swollen belly. It both left him distressed in being in such a situation, but also feeling...protected. Almost like the dwarf's short but sturdy arms were, unbeknown to any of them but Legolas himself, shielding the unborn babe from any harm.

Gimli was still tired but managed to stay awake, while morning came and the sun rose slowly like a flaming eye over the hills. The morning wind was chilled and fresh and held new hope of what was awaiting. Aragorn spoke not often, and one could see in his eyes that thought his steed followed Shadowfaxe in his heels his rider was not with him; maybe he thought of Rivendell and Arwen, or what lay ahead, but one could not know.

To keep awake, Gimli started to speak to Legolas but when the elf did not answer, he frowned. The elf may be one of few words, but blatantly ignoring him was something unusual. Gimli wondered if maybe he too was out in stray thoughts. He could not see Legolas' face so he could not see his glazed over eyes either.

"Hm, pointy-ear? What say you?" No answer again, and he realized how close friend Legolas had become when he started to worry. He shook the elf gently. Despite to this, feeling one rider's worry and that the other was not leading him, Arod followed the other horses. He knew were to go.

The reins lay motionless in Legolas' hands. Gimli sighed in frustration. This was unheard of! Either there be mockery between them, or a conversation, but silence like this was unnerving. "Very well, then. Seems there's only a beast left to talk to." He horse snorted as if understanding his words.

Aragorn suddenly called out, to Gimli, with both surprise and merriment. "This I have not heard of before! An elf falling asleep on a horse. Gimli, wake him up, or I fear Arod will try."

Gimli laughed. Asleep? But well, Legolas_ had_ been asleep on his feet while running with them on the plains of Rohan. "This is becoming a bad habit of yours," he said and shook the elf, stronger this time. "Wake, Legolas. Now don't lose control over the beast! I'm rather not thrown off."

Legolas felt his name being called, there was someone tugging at his arm. He felt...He was moving, fast, wind blowing on his face. It was a cold wind, and he shivered slightly before his eyes cleared and he saw plains and Gandalf and Aragorn on each their own horse in front of him. Behind him he heard Gimli say something he could not really register. He had fallen asleep! 'Watch yourself, 'Las', he told himself. 'Next time you'll be in a battle when it happens!' How could he been so off his guard? He had not felt this tired in a long time. He shook his head.

Gimli snorted when golden locks caught in his face. "Watch out, elf lad, with all that hair of yours. Where were you, by the way, you seemed so far away?"

Legolas couldn't help the slight pink blush that crept onto his cheeks. Before, no one had noticed his periods of mind-wanderings, but now he was sharing a horse, surely the other rider would notice at once. Then he felt that his friend's arms still were wrapped around his waist. "I fell asleep," he admitted grudgingly. "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Another snort; but Gimli grinned widely at the same time. "Ha! The pointy-ear admitted it. You are some strange kind of a sleepwalker, my friend," he said with a huge smirk.

"And who was nearly dragging us both to the ground before because of his fatigue?" At the elf's words an interesting shadow of red crept up behind the dwarf's beard.

He grumbled something in dwarfish before he spoke to Legolas. "At least I sleep like normal people, with my eyes closed, unlike someone I know. But well, you are an elf, so I am not surprised."

In front of the two, Gandalf and Aragorn were snickering over the usual exchanges between dwarf and elf. But said ones were to busy in their bickering to notice it anyway.

()()()

"I have found you a husband."

His father's words, those which had broken his world apart, still echoed within him. The first words he wanted to scream were _"I will not!"_ but then he realized he had no choice and remained silent.

He felt trapped, alone. His grief over Egil's death was still obvious to anyone, but no one...No one realized, no one knew. He could not marry this appointed lord or whoever it was. Egil was his..he was Egil's. No one knew, of course, it would be too dangerous. And his _adar_ would be furious. He had married unofficially with someone without any well-known ancestors or great deeds. A simple warrior out of many, someone that was not only a guard and slight friend.

_And he was carrying his child._

He could not marry. He _was _already married. The life within his body was created out of their love. If he was forced into marriage … his child would be harmed. No one would let him keep it, why would they? They would care naught of it. As a prince, and a fertile one to that, he could connect to many kingdoms. Marriage...He did not care if this lord, prince or king's wish to have him based on something else than politics and lust; he simply could not.

He belonged to Egil.


	6. To Edoras

**Chapter six:  
To Edoras**

There was a large hill ahead of them, surrounded by wooden walls and watchtowers; a city rose there, and it was Edoras, home of the King of Horse-lords. Legolas shadowed his eyes with a long pale hand and saw men walking upon the walls, and they were tall and their yellow-gold hair shone in the sunlight. They held spears in their hands, glittering in the morning sun. 'So this is King

Théoden's Golden Hall', he thought. At a first glance, one saw it was strong and sturdy built but though adorned the houses looked very much like stables. He did not often go near any settlements of men; only in Mirkwood because of their contacts and trading partners. But now he was a lone elf and it left him uneasy; he knew he would be stared at. Many of these people had never seen an elf before, nor the shadow of one, was he sure. He smiled wryly. It wouldn't surprise him.

They rode on; on both sides on the road rose burial mounds, covered with white bloom, simbelmynë, the ever-lasting flowers which bloomed all the year and only on the dead one's sepulchers. They shone in the grass like white tears. There were mounds seven on the right side and five on the left. Not much more than five hundred years had passed since the first one had been made. _'So short time, so short,'_ Legolas thought with a soft sigh. '_Yet so long...'_

Gimli did no longer hold his arms about his waist. It left him feeling exposed. Even through his tunic and shirt he felt the wind against his stomach. Over the last days, he had become more and more sensitive of the weather. He knew he must be more and more careful, if he wanted to hide his condition as long as possible. But it was hard now. Maybe it would be easier without the dreams, but he didn't know.

Would they pity him when he told them? He _would _tell them, it was a how and when, not a if anymore. He couldn't just leave them, they had grown so close. And he was sure Gimli would personally hunt him down...

He smiled slightly at the thought. Gimli was one of the closest friends he had now, and it had been not a long time at all (for an elf anyway) since the dwarf would have been able to strike him down without a second thought. But now...The three of them, Gimli and he and Aragorn, were brothers in arms, thought he knew not the depth of the relationship between Gimli and Aragorn. The man was their leader, but was slowly slipping away from them ... Maybe it was Arwen, or the thoughts of Gondor and his heritage... Legolas shook his head. He was mind-wandering again! Indeed a sleep-walker in strange ways...

He didn't want to be pitied, nor looked down upon. Would they be disgusted, or overwhelmed? Would they leave him? A silent fear quivered up inside of him. He didn't want them to turn him their backs. He'd already lost so many, he could not lose more. Or they would feel compassion and understanding...

Understanding. No, not understanding. Nobody could understand, none except those who themselves had been in his place, his condition, his path. They wouldn't understand his fear, or why he had not told them sooner, why he choose to travel while...while carrying child. Would they be angry? 'Of course they will be, they would have forbidden me to go in the first place rather than have me here', he thought.

"Watch what you say," Gandalf said to them at his left side, pulling him back to the real world with his sudden voice. "Do not expect to be welcomed here."

When they rode past the gates, a ripped flag, dark green in colour with the image of a rider on a white horse in full gallop, fell with the wind next to them tangling itself in the long grass. It was a sad image, one of a struggle and great hardship for something beyond, much like this very land. The guards by the gates were tall and quiet, and only because of Gandalf's words to them the group was allowed to pass.

It was silent, people's faces darkened and sad and children didn't play outside he houses. Even the horses were quiet. The only thing of colour in the brown lands seemed to be their blond hair, whipping about their faces with the wind. They looked so sad and frightened, fragile, yet there was strength and waiting in the people as well. They looked upon the traveling group with wonder but many also with blank stares, but none said a word. Legolas felt himself unconsciously tense again, being an odd and along creature among so many of Men. But when Gimli muttered behind him he was reminded of that the dwarf also was an outsider here, and it gave him some silent support.

"It's merrier in a graveyard," Gimli commented darkly behind him, but only Legolas and possibly Gandalf could hear what he said.

They followed the wizard to a high plateau, surrounded by stone and reached by long stairs. Upon it was a large building, the Golden Hall itself. There was a terrace and the roof above it was held up by six pillars of wood; every part of the building was simply decorated in dark, weather-worn colours and carvings, pictures of horses and men riding to battle. At the base of the stair was a fountain with running water glinting in the sunlight, and its sides were carved into figures of horse-heads. The sound of running water and their horses' fall of hooves were the only sounds heard. The guards at the stair and the terrace were either standing with spears in their hands and helmets over their heads looking out over the city and the surrounding hills, or sitting with swords crossed over their knees. One came forward, hindering them in their pace. They had just reached the base of the stair.

"It is the hall-doors in front of you now," the man said. "Your horses will be taken care of until you will leave again."

They dismounted their steeds; at a sign from the man they had met, the horses were led away to the stables, and the man left them to their own again.

But once they had reached the terrace itself, anew guards stopped their way. "Hail, travellers from far away," the man said at the same time turning the sword-hilt of his own blade toward them in a sign of peace. Even thought he spoke in Westron, his voice was accented slightly. One could hear it was second language only. "We cannot let anyone armed into the Golden Halls of Meduseld," the man said. "Your weapons must be left behind by this door before you can enter. They will be watched well. It is the order of Gríma Wormtongue," he added. At the mention of the name, both him and his guards' faces darkened, and also Gandalf's did.

It was not without reluctance that they handed over their weapons. When Legolas gave them his bow and quiver with arrows he told them how they came from the Golden Woods and were a gift to him from the Lady, the men quickly laid them down on the ground as if afraid to touch them and assured him they were in good hands. Aragorn let his sword and knifes over, and only then Gimli also gave up his axe. Gandalf gave them his sword, the old elven sword Glamdring, but held still his white ash-staff.

"Your staff," the guard, Háma, said to Gandalf. "Forgive me, but also it must be left by the door."

Aragorn gave a chuckle, and Legolas suspected that the slight wink Gandalf gave both him and the ranger earlier had something to do with a slight game. "We all has something to valuable to leave behind," Aragorn said. "Not would you take the staff from an old man's hand? Come now! Will you not be friendly and let us into the hall now?"

As to confirm Aragorn's words, Gandalf heavily leaned onto his staff and then also to the companion on his side, hooking his arm, which happened to be Legolas. The elf tried to keep his face serious, but felt that Gandalf was more than strong enough to keep his back straight, and he felt a sudden urge to laugh. The same glint was in both Aragorn's and Gimli's eyes, he saw now. The wizard's old hand, even through layers of clothing, felt warm and radiated of power, and for a second Legolas feared that Gandalf would sense his condition.

"Very well, even in these ill times a good man has to stay to his own judgment," Háma said. "You may step inside." He and his men made way for the travellers, who walked into the hall two and two, Gandalf next to Legolas first, and then Aragorn beside the shortest comrade Gimli. The wizard didn't let go of the elf's arm, as some of the guards followed still, in the shadows in the room.

The chamber was long and the light dim. It was also silent, even with many people within, just like outside. The air was thicker, filled with tension, and warmer since upon the hill with the wild wind. It was like walking through a wall of heat. The walls of the room were covered in old paintings, some dull in colour, some clear even while under dark shadows. Pillars of wood with carvings of horses cast long shadows, but an image hanging on the wall between two of them was in clear view.

It was one of a rider, a young man with golden hair flying behind him, on his white steed. He held a horn lifted in his hand, and a sword in the other. Water cascaded around the horse's knees. Aragorn murmured softly to the dwarf next to him, but Legolas' sharp elven ears could also pick the words up. "See, that was Eorl the young when he rode to battle upon the plains of Celebrant."

A five-step-stair in the far end of the room let to the throne. A man bent by age sat there, his hair silvered, but there were shades of gold there as well. He wore a crowd on his head and thick dark robes around his body. His head was bent down slightly, and his eyes dimmed; almost like even eyes glazed over for sleep. But the man was not asleep. By the foot of the throne was a crouching figure, paler than any man they had seen here, like he had spent years in a dark corner of a cellar, skin not touched by the sun. His hair was black like his robes, no couldn't be one of the Rohirrim.

A bit from the throne stood a woman, she was tall and fair and pale, like a winter morn. Her dress

was simple and white, a contrast to the darkness of the room. But there was strength and determination on her face, though also sadness over something lost. Legolas felt Gandalf let go off his arm, while also he felt Aragorn's gaze travel to the woman. Knowing his friend well, he could read the very air about him better than anyone except perhaps Arwen and Galadriel, and felt some feeling he could not name stir up within the man.

The silence was still so complete. The old man did not move where he sat in his golden chair. At last Gandalf spoke. "Hell, Théoden son of Thengel. I come with advice, and help in these dark times."

Then the man on the throne looked up and Legolas saw in his face that this one had been a strong and raised warrior. An uneasy feeling still was gnawing on him. There was more here than what met the eye...He didn't like the look of the snake-like pale man who now was murmuring to the King. Gandalf had told them of what was going on in Rohan, yes, but he felt like something else than just age and whispers heaved this man's mind.

"Why should I welcome you...Gandalf storm-crow?" the King said, his voice raspy and slight groggy. He looked at them like seeing them for the first time. "Why would I let you into my hall like this, along with three other filthy figures in gray, you the most beggar-like of all four?" A murmur spread through the hall; it was not often the King opened his mouth at all nowadays. "Help, you say, but you come with this pack, not with horses and warriors. Where are the spears and the swords? That is help that we need...But you come surely to find help, not to give it."

"The courtesy of your Hall has lessened some of late, Théoden King," Gandalf said. "Not many times before has your hall seen any strangers such as my comrades; the weapons laid at your door are worth many of the mortals' lives, even the mightiest. Gray are their clothing, for they have been gifted with it from the elves, and with their help they have gone though the many dangers here to your hall."

There was a hiss and the pale figure stood. His voice was false as a snake's, and Legolas took immediate dislike to it. "So it is true then, that you are in - with the Witch of the Golden forest? It is barely surprising, for the web of betrayal always has been spun in Dwimordene." He took a step forward, his eyes were pale and piercing like his face, and he stared at Gandalf. "Láthspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

Gimli felt anger rise at the words about the lady, and stepped forward but was hindered by Legolas' hand on his shoulder. At the same time, Gandalf stepped forward toward the old king and raised his staff. A panic rose among the guards and people in the room. "His staff!" Wormtongue cried. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The guards were upon the gray-clad strangers, and combats broke out among them; Aragorn and Legolas hindered them from reaching Gandalf and stopping whatever the wizard was doing, while Gimli launched after the pale worm which had insulted the White Lady so. He held him down with the words: "I'd better lie still if I were you." But he took his better judgment and didn't use his blade and didn't end the poor life of Gríma right there.

Gandalf was speaking and his voice went through a change as he spoke so clearly, so deep and piercing. His gray travel-worn cloak was thrown aside and then he stood tall and shimmering, even though no window let any sunlight where he stood he was shining pale and white like a star. The King, madness reaching up with him seeing Gandalf like this, as White, cried out and fell back, then the spell seemed to end. Silence settled upon them when the old slumped in his chair. Gandalf backed away slightly, giving room for the white-clad woman who rushed forward to steady the King. The fight behind them had faded; some four or five men lay unconscious on the floor.

The King's gaze cleared slowly and he looked on the woman in wonder. Age seemed to leave his face and all this worry that had slumped his very being for so long lifted and he grew strong and tall again. "I know your face," he murmured. "Éowyn." Tears formed in his sister-daughter's face when she smiled and helped him to his feet.

"Gandalf?" the man asked in disbelief, seeing the wizard. People now was crowding the room. Aragorn and Legolas stepped closer to their friend, but Gimli still held Gríma in a hard grip.

"Breathe fresh air again, my friend," Gandalf said.

"My dreams has been so dark..." He looked from the wizard when a man approached with a sword, hilt to the King.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength, were they holding the sword again," Gandalf told him with a smile. The King did so, marveling at the feeling of after so long dark time again holing a weapon. His eyes swept over the room, the people, which he recognized, and the strangers, and at last, a pale face which arose dark memories, and anger.

In Gimli's grip, Wormtongue was trembling.

()()()

Later, when night was falling, they were in the Halls again. Two children sat at the end of the hall, eating hungrily; they had come alone on a horse, with a warning from their mother which had sent them; their home had been attacked, like so many others...

Gríma, Wormtongue more usually called, had not been killed even if the King had been near to do so; Aragorn had stopped him. The pale shadow of a man had taken a horse and fled from Edoras and out of sight; most people believed he rode either to his Master - Saruman, as Gandalf suspected - or his own death.

The Three Hunters had been given a meal, laid out on the table, and Aragorn was sitting smoking by the table. Legolas stood by his side, but then when Gimli started speaking to him he sat down as well next to his dwarfish friend. He ate very little, afraid of getting a sickness at the wrong place. He had to get used to food again, and it was hard. He drank very little as well, as it was ale given only, and he was unused to it and also had to be careful about the unborn child.

The child...It was such a wrong time! Had it not been war, it would have been much simpler; then the marriage wouldn't have been as important for his father as it now was. Perhaps then, his relationship with a usual Mirkwood warrior would be accepted, welcomed even. And their child... But now... 'Oh Legolas, why do you always think so? Maybe he will understand?' he thought. But Thranduil wouldn't understand. Of course not. Why he had chosen friends outside the court was still something his father didn't understand. So a lover... No, he wouldn't understand. He had to hide and flee, like a coward...

He tried to focus again.

"...You must fight!" Gandalf said, probably to Théoden. The King was now pacing the room. Legolas looked over the chamber; meeting Aragorn's gaze, he saw the same thing there as in his own heart. There were no other choice, was it not? The people of Rohan and its King had to fight, and soon, like the rest of this World.

"I will not risk open war," Théoden said.

Aragorn spoke for the first time to him. "Open war is upon you, whenever you risk it or not."

Gimli burped, and dried some of the ale that had slipped onto his beard with his sleeve. Probably he had been near coughing. Legolas face remained impassive.

Théoden turned toward the man; he knew of his heritage now, since Gandalf had told him, and he knew not if he liked it or not. If the man was the King of Gondor, why not take the city he longed for earlier? And this also meant, he would have a King stronger than himself and Middle-Earth would unite under one bane. But, the man was not King yet, and he was not King over these lands. "Last time I looked, it was Théoden, not Aragorn, who was the King of Gondor," he said.

Legolas wanted to defend his friend, but Aragorn didn't seem to react. So he tried to calm his nerves and don't do anything stupid. Anything...Doing anything actually would not only perhaps insult the King of Rohan but his facade of silence and strength would be ruined and then would come the questions. No, he couldn't risk it, even thought it seemed slightly harder to breathe when keeping so much feelings down.

He felt actual fear, that one day he would lose control and would end up in an outburst or broken, and it would only go downhill from there. 'Relax,' he told himself. 'They do not know, and even if they did, maybe they at least would let you go in peace. They have no reason to take the child from you...do they?'

But...He knew one, or more perhaps, who would once he found out. One ...

()()()

"Whom? Whom am I to wed, adar?" he blurted out, anything to break this silence.

His father did not look up from his work. "I cannot tell you, yet. He is noble and respected. Do not worry, my Greenleaf, he will take care of you and any offspring you will carry."

He swallowed hard. The words leaving his father's moth were not soothing at all and gave no answers, and he was sure that 'care' was the wrong word. So he wouldn't know until the wedding-day if this nobleman was living up to his father's picture, if he was a really caring and loving person. Legolas knew that he could never live with someone arrogant or only self-caring person, he could never let anyone lay a hand on him; never except for true love would he take anyone to his bed. And true love had already been claimed, he was someone's already. But to tell… No, he wouldn't tell.

"Now leave," Thranduil continued, setting the pen and the quill aside. Looking up he saw that his son still stood there. "Legolas, I know that you are nervous, but it is normal for anyone unwed to feel like this."

"Can you at least tell me from where he is, please?" Legolas bade him.

"Is it of such importance, Legolas?" Thranduil asked wearily.

Legolas' voice was hushed, were he afraid to say these words louder. It felt like telling lies, but he was already lying so much. He avoided looking Thranduil in the eyes, afraid that he would see. See...see too much. See through his lies and what he had done. "Yes adar, it it. If he is ... my future husband I ... I need to know. He is the one I will spend the rest of my life with, after all."

Thranduil sighed. "In time, in time, Legolas. It is only a few months left, then you shall meet him in person." He reached for a parchment, and gave it to his son. "Here, this is a letter I want you to deliver to Lord Elrond along with your message about Gollum's escape. Now listen to me, this is private, only he is allowed to read this, and you must give him it in private as well. No one must be allowed to know. Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, _adar_." Secret letters? It was not a secret that Lord Elrond and his father were not at the best of terms, since the Last Alliance and Oropher's death. This was a surprise, either this letter was of some dangerous discovery or event which only Lords and the like were to know of, or it was personal. Legolas took the letter warily and bowed to his father.

"Good day, _adar_."

His father nodded. "I want you to come back whole from your journey, and as quick as possible."

Legolas walked quickly to his rooms, parchment still in his hands, and locked the door about him. Curiosity was eating him from inside out. He couldn't help it, he needed to know what was so important. Maybe, there was just a slight chance, but maybe there was information about the one he was promised to; if he really was to escape, to Rivendell maybe, he couldn't risk going anywhere where he might meet him.

He sat on his bed. When opening the letter, carefully breaking the quill so that it wouldn't be seen he had opened it afterwards, his hands were trembling slightly with excitement. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest – what was he doing? This was madness, he was again breaking his father's rules! He'd be mad!

The words floated before his eyes when he read quickly; there were many formalities but also a sense of great haste. Then he froze, his eyes fixed on a line saying: _'...since you have told me of the founding of the One Ring, I will send one of my wisest councilors along with the escort of my son to Imladris to take a part of this Council which you have decided. If you wish it, my son might be welcome to such affairs, but I am not expecting him to take a part of such dealings, thinking of his upcoming marriage...' _

Legolas could not believe what he read. The Ring – the One Ring... "Oh Valar, all these dreams," he whispered with a gasp. So that was why all these deaths coming closer, the shadow growing and evil coming so close it was graspable now... Mordor was waking, Sauron was waking... The One Ring had been found. He realized at once why this letter was so important, and why it was secret from him. 'He doesn't want to heave my mind more...' He held back the sense of grief that welled up inside of him, the pain remembering Egil's death.

But even so he read on, he needed more than ever to know. With mentioning the marriage, this meant Elrond knew, and he couldn't stay there... A sudden fear grabbed his heart. Was his fiancé from Imladris?

_'... and I am glad to hear he is ready to take my son's hand in marriage...'_

The parchment fell lifelessly from Legolas' hands. He felt numb, air went from his lungs. He felt on the verge of tears again. No...He couldn't do this, marry someone he knew by name so well but not at all in character. He didn't care, he could not do it. Simply could not.

The one his father had promised him to was Lord Glorfindel.


	7. Brothers in Arms

**Chapter Seven:  
Brothers in Arms**

When he and his friends followed Gandalf towards the stables, Legolas felt the old man's distress. At his side, he heard Gimli mutter something about King Théoden; his ears picked up the words well. "Why, they flee to Helm's Deep, when they should stay and fight!"

At last the King had decided that he would lead his people to Rohan's old strong Keep, the Hornburgh, the one place which no enemy before had taken. Not a single battle there before had been lost. Legolas recognized this uncertainty, being here on the open plains in Edoras which would not last long in a battle. But mountains would be both bad and good, they might be driven to the walls and die helpless beyond any rescue.

Gandalf was talking with Aragorn ahead of them; he would ride out, and in the morning of the fifth day he would be back. Only an istari and his uncatchable horse could be so fast, Legolas mused. The elf went to his and Gimli's horse Arod and stroke his mane, murmuring softly. The horse felt his master's distress, only like a horse can do, and sniffed on his face and neck. Some moment later, Gandalf and Shadowfaxe rode like the wind out of the stables and the city itself, and was lost from sight. Aragorn stood in thought for a moment, and Legolas couldn't read his expression, before he left, surely to find Théoden King. The man's face was grim, something heavy rested on his mind.

That left him and Gimli. The dwarf was looking at his ministrations when he tended Arod's mane, finding not much left to do before they would leave, and started saddling him. Usually he would not ride with saddle nor bridle, but Gimli had earlier insisted, he would never ride bareback on the beast.

"Only an elf would do that, speaking so odd - with a horse!" Gimli said suddenly, from where he stood leaning against the wall. "Except these people of course, but that is another matter entirely. They do not_ talk _with them; they ride." He shook his head, his eyes were squinted slightly as if he were reflecting something.

Legolas did not look at him or say anything, just listened while he secured the saddle. The horse stomped impatiently with his hoof, feeling the tension building up between the two creatures. He snorted and turned to the elf, burying his nose in his hair. Legolas continued, and when there was no work left to do, he was again stroking the animal's mane. His thought were wandering again.

"I know that look on your face by now," Gimli said, breaking the silence. "I wonder if every elf is always daydreaming, or if it is just you."

Legolas gave a small chuckle and looked over at his friend. "I am afraid it must be just me, friend Gimli."

Gimli humphed and stepped closer. "Now, we should soon leave. But I am not mounting that beast until I must. Don't try anything else, elf!" he added in a joking tone seeing Legolas' raised eyebrow, in the fashion only an elf with much practice could do.

"Very well, master Gimli, if you do not drag me off then we are even."

Their words did not hold the usual banter, the energy or the humour. It was something lacking, but none of it voiced what were in their minds. Legolas felt tired, actually tired, not only physically. He wanted to rest his soul, get rid of all these thoughts. When he led Arod out of the stables with Gimli at his side, they spoke not much. People around were gathering themselves. They looked too weak for this, men and women and children, old and young and sick. Legolas knew that some would not survive a walk like this, a journey over plain and mountains for days, that some weak and old would die. They met up with Théoden and his men, and also Aragorn was there and the ranger left only to fetch Hausfeld.

()()()

"Teach me some Elvish."

Legolas snapped from his thoughts in an instant hearing the words. "What?"

Gimli repeated the words with a sigh, wondering why he'd said so in the first place. "Teach me some Elvish. It'd be good to actually understand what you are saying, from time to time."

Legolas couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. They had been riding with the people of Rohan for hours now, and Edoras was no longer seen to his keen elven vision. Aragorn was walking behind them, leading his horse, next to lady Éowyn.

"Very well, friend Gimli, we could use this time we have," he said good-naturally. "_Sindarin_ or _Quenya_?"

This question put Gimli off his guard. "What is that? Sindar-inn? Kwen-ya?"

Legolas chuckled. "Elvish is not just one language, my friend. There are many versions and dialects of it, and those are the two I know."

"Both, I suppose."

"Both? You surprise me, my friend, but maybe it is dwarf thing...Sindarin is my native tongue," he continued, and felt the dwarf's attention on his every word. "It is more spoken than Quenya, which is the High Tongue, the language of the Noldor."

Gimli shook his head and Legolas heard him chuckle. "Keep to words and not to people, please, thank you," the dwarf said. "I know not why I asked such a thing in the first place. You have gotten a bad influence on me, see, on the other day I found myself talking to a horse – a horse, such beasts! Talking to them, madness! Elves..."

A laughter erupted from Legolas' mouth, and eyes were drawn to the odd riding couple. No one except Aragorn had heard an elf laugh before; some didn't even know that they _could _laugh. It was a rare beautiful sound, like bells and harps, and reminded of happy summers. Legolas felt the attention and made Arod leave a little distance between them and the main group. It made him uncomfortable, being in such attention, and he felt the same feeling from his dwarfish friend.

"Well, we should cover the basics, and as I know more of it I shall teach you Sindarin to begin with. What do you want to know?" Legolas did not know where to start, learning out a language so different from one's own was someone he was not used to.

Gimli shifted slightly behind him. "Are there some odd elven customs, while exchanging phrases, depending on rang or age?" he wanted to know. "Do such things even matter for you odd flighty creatures?" He hoped not.

Slowing Arod down slightly, Legolas pondered the question to give a short answer. He hadn't really thought of such things before, not reflected just accepted; as a Prince, he had quickly gotten used being watched and guarded, that people did not show feelings as deep before him and bowed and generally did not communicate with him like others in the court or their friends or even strangers. Formalities came first. But his father had taught him some rules, but he suspected they were used in the Mirkwood kingdom alone, having died out in other elven lands, but Mirkwood had become isolated. Old rites and beliefs strived everywhere around him and his home, he knew. "It differs from land to land, and race to race; and in some cases also family lines," he said. "But in my homeland, you should let the elder or the one with lower rang speak first. If he or she does not speak, then you shall."

"Even thought my old bones, every elf I shall meet will definitely outnumber me with their age," Gimli said with a chuckle. "What shall you say?"

"To strangers, you may say _Mae govannen_ followed by the phrase _Gîl síla na lû govaded_... Usually, between friends, there is a good-natured _suilad_; 'greetings', added with _mellon_, 'friend'... But I suspect you already have heard of the last?"

Gimli chuckled. "With you about me calling me that all day long, how could I not? Now, get on with it." A smile flashed across Legolas' face, but before he was able to continue, Gimli had opened his mouth again. This dwarf was curious of nature when one let him, Legolas mused, and realized he must be the only elf knowing such a thing about a dwarf. "Differs Mirkwood customs so much from others?"

"I have traveled much in my life, and yes, I have noticed that it differs more than I first thought. Other realms, such as Imladris, do not think much of positions; everyone is seen as equal to another, and praise over the ordinary does not cause surprise. One would call Mirkwood's rites strange, I think... But I am no stranger to it, so I do not know." He paused a little, expecting Gimli to say something but found the dwarf quiet. "Greetings between two or more may be the point of judgment, if one elf accepts the other. And as we are immortal, anger can pyre between two for centuries... This means we must have restrictions and much of communication is built upon politeness. An elf, I believe anyone, feels when dislike at first sight happens. It is rare, but it does happen. And feelings like that must be ignored or hidden for the sake of avoiding struggle or bloodshed."

"You haven't even learnt me any elvish yet!" Gimli said. "This is one of a teacher. And what of other realms, how come then I haven't heard too much of politeness from you? Or have I in a secret hidden meaning?"

"I have learnt to be used to other customs," Legolas said simply. "And there is not only in word, but also in gestures one can show gallantry."

"Do not try anything, elf!" Gimli said suddenly with a grin. "I rather dismount this beast before you show whatever you which to show me, or we are both thrown off. Are these important, by the way, or just some over-done elven thing?" He knew of such things among Men and his own people as well, but regarding on standards, formalities mattered in different grades. But the elf had a point, they did live for quite some time – very long time – and he imagined being an enemy with some of his own race for hundreds of years. It would be a great pity, filled with so much boiling hatred and loss.

They dismounted. They were slightly ahead now of the large group of Men. Legolas continued, founding it easier to speak. "This," he said and made a strange gesture with his hand and wrist over his chest, just below the collarbone, "shows loyalty, undependable on the rank of the one you give it. Are you to show it for a leader, lord or lady, you add a bow."

"Should I list these all these elven odd things? Had I kept my big mouth shut, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with," Gimli muttered mostly to himself. "Go over to the _words_, or else you tire this old dwarf completely."

Legolas knew not where to start, but after a while and being bombarded with questions and mutterings and also some dwarfish curses, Gimli had learned a few polite and daily phrases and also gotten an insight into Mirkwood traditions. Another hour had passed by now. But then, suddenly when Gimli was in the middle of saying something about the quality of rock, Legolas gazed ahead.

And saw something he really did not wish to see.

His eyes widened and he cried out on instinct: "Wargs are ahead!"

Stopping in his sentence, Gimli looked up and saw something running fast down the hill. Several things, yet too far away for him to disguise, and they were moving fast: like dots in the grass. Legolas stopped in his tracks and turned to his friends. "Gimli, ride back and warn the others."

"And what are you crazy elf up to?" Gimli said, annoyed when the elf helped him to mount. Arod snorted and stepped nervously back and forth, not willing to stand still until Legolas muttered soft words in the horse's ear.

"Just go, I'll delay the wargs!" He had spotted armed orcs upon the beasts, and those must be spies; if things were worse, maybe a larger part of orcs were waiting up ahead. Too many lives were at stake now, with all the innocent people just behind them. "Hurry!" He was already aiming his first arrow when Gimli turned Arod around.

A faint cry was heard when he hit his target, and the next, and the next. The beasts continued to stream down the hill. Battle cries reached his ears, followed by screams behind him. Hoof beats... He did not turn around, still firing, when over two dozen of men came riding up behind him, swords drawn. From the corner of his eye he recognized Arod, with Gimli on his back, riding very near. Just when the white steed hurried past he turned, grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on the horse in a fast, inhuman move.

The two groups, one of horses and Men, and a dwarf and an elf of course, and the warg-ridden orcs, clashed together like to storms creating a tornado. Legolas was firing like mad with his bow, but heard suddenly a thud behind him; Gimli had fallen off the horse. Partly it was a conscious thing, as the dwarf could not do much of a fight with his axe on horseback. The elf turned his head sharply around, seeing his friend get to his feet. But when he saw trouble ahead he turned Arod around and notched an arrow on his bow.

A warg dangerously close to the dwarf growled and moved closer. Gimli lifted his axe encouragingly. "Stick your pretty nose closer to my axe!" he cried. Just when the beast was in the middle of a jump, Gimli's axe raised high above his head, there was a shriek from the animal and a thud as an arrow embedded in its flesh. Gimli stared hard at the elf with a disapproving glare. "That still counts as mine!"

When he turned to the next enemy, Legolas had a smile on his lips, but it faded once he was thrown into battle with full concentration. Behind him, there was an 'oomphf!' and the sound of heavy bodies falling to the ground.

All off sudden, a blur of black and brown came from the left, throwing him off Arod in the process. He cried in surprise and sudden pain as air whooshed out of his lungs. He crashed to the ground, feeling a heavy weight on his body, and a sudden panic and fear that his unborn child might be harmed grew like a pit in his stomach. A large warg stood over him, claws digging into his shoulder. Drool escaped from the beast's mouth as it growled loudly and lowered its giant head, mouth open revealing ugly but deadly sharp teeth. Cringing at the foul stench coming from that mouth, Legolas reached for one of his knifes but they were out of reach in this crushing position.

He would have been afraid had he thought of how close death was, how close his life would soon be ending, or how easily the life of his child would slip away. But he was too concentrated to think, and pain and worry turned into anger. Anger that made him stronger than he realized, and he struggled, struggled for his life and for his unborn child.

A sharp pain hit him suddenly like a spear had pierced his flesh and worry rose, what if his child was hurt? He didn't know _where_ it hurt, just _that_ it hurt. Pain meant a wound, and that could mean...

Would he die now, oh, his _adar _would be so angry...

The curses leaving his mouth when he reacted at once in a quick move drowned as his hands pushed into the beast's open mouth, long fingers wrapping about its muzzle. Learning how to handle dogs and hounds breed for the hunt and kill was a good thing, now he was one of the most thankful in the world for it. He could just hope there was not too many differences between a dog and a warg in anatomy, except the size ...

He struggled to remain his grip, the warg was strong and heavy, but whatever it did, no matter how much it tried, it could not bite down. His anger and now building up panic was not soothed, a voice in his head remained whispering about death and his child and how he was failing it and Egil... Legolas heard from his side Gimli's voice, and the struggle with the beast felt suddenly not as hopeless anymore.

"You really are a mad elf!" And an axe came down on the warg's neck and blood splattered onto Legolas' tunic and face. He slipped his hands out of the beast's mouth and his friend helped to roll the dead body away from over him.

"You really are a mad elf, Legolas my friend," Gimli muttered. "Keep out from their mouths next time, eh? You were lucky my axe and I were close by. You could have lost your limbs, you crazy fool."

Ignoring the his words, Legolas took thankful his helping hand to stand. "Thank you," he said with a nod, bending down to retrieve his bow. After a nod in answer the dwarf was moving away from him meeting another warg or golbin in combat.

He called out the horse's name but Arod was already fleeing from the battle-field. He hoped just that his horse-friend made it alive... Wiping away some of the blood from his face in the same motion when he reached for another arrow, he raised hos bow and aimed. But soon he put back his bow in the quiver and let the work of killing into his twin knifes instead. Maybe he should have brought a sword on the journey; they were surely more effective toward these creatures than arrow and knife together.

He was not so very sure on how long time had passed when the fight finally was over. From the warg's claws there was a slight but throbbing pain in his left shoulder. His clothing was stained with blood, as were his blades, and he was glad that it was not his own. Arod was not yet in sight, nor were any of his friends... A curse left his lips and he started to search the battlefield, which was filled with blood and corpses of men, orcs, horses and wargs. It didn't help that a feeling of fear was building up inside of him. Gimli and Aragorn had to be all right, they had to be...They couldn't be dead. Just couldn't.

Panic, fear. They rose within him more and more with each step and each heartbeat sounded louder in his chest. He had not felt those feeling in a long time, not since ...

"Aragorn! Gimli?" he called over the plains, and to his great relief he heard a gruff voice reply from somewhere ahead. His gaze focused and he saw Gimli walking towards him. He did not appear wounded, at least not visibly, and it was a good sign which lightened Legolas' heart.

"Legolas, it is good to see you whole. Have you seen Aragorn?" The dwarf's voice was slightly tighter than usual, holding both relief and concern. Neither elf nor dwarf voiced really how glad they were to see one another and how worried they had been. And still were.

Aragorn. Aragorn wasn't...He hoped that he wasn't.

"Aragorn?" he called out again.

A dark creature was choking on the ground, limbs frozen and growing cold in its death. Choking blood. Its arms were crossed and hands slightly bent. Gimli was there before Legolas, axe raised over the creature's head.

"Tell us what happened and your passing shall be easier."

The orc gave a small but firm smirk, and its eyes were full of blood-lust still but also self-confidence and something more that neither dwarf or elf liked. "He...is dead," it choked out. "He took a little tumble of the cliff ..."

A white fury laced up within Legolas, like the one when Éomer had threatened Gimli but stronger still and he bent down and grabbed the orc's collar forcefully. Gimli had never before seen such fire in his friend's eyes or the hate and disbelief written in his face. All that anger...

"You lie!"

But the orc choked and said not more. Legolas' eyes were drawn to something silver in it's frozen hand and carefully and with more and more pain in his heart picked it up. It was a pedant, one that he immediately recognized. The Evenstar. It lay in his hand glistening in the sun but its light was dimmed. So the orc had not lied then...

_Failure._

The cliff was high and met breaking, swirling wild waters long meters down. There were no signs of any body, though he could spot something brown and hairy...A warg corpse. But no Aragorn.

He felt strangely numb... He had failed, again, but this time without any warning, and if it was possible it hurt even more. But seeing just nothing but water, he felt empty like a shell and maybe it would be better to fall as well... Fall into the pit of death and be to the end of all this; the pain, the guilt, the struggles, the loneliness, the ...

What would they do now? They, he and Gimli, had lost their close friend. They were leaderless, what point was there now, when Aragorn was not there to lead them? He had always made the decisions, and Legolas had suited with that. But now... Here they were, alone, strange creatures in a strange land, fleeing with their people. He was alone.

But not just because he was immortal, among mortals. An elf among men. He did not feel so untouched by death as an immortal should. He was closer to it by every breath he took. The pale Evenstar still lay in his trembling hand.

"Bring the wounded on horses. Isengard's wargs will return," he heard King Théoden say at his side. "Leave the dead."

At this, his head shot up in despair and fury. How could this man even suggests such a thing? Leave Aragorn? It was like leaving a brother.

_Brother..._Old memories rose again and he could not push them away.

Théoden met his gaze with sympathy but he had no idea of the turmoil in the elf's mind, how shattered his soul was.

He did not flinch when an unwelcome hand lain on his shoulder. He was too numb, too cold, to feel the touch more than as it had been a ghost's hand.

"Come," Théoden said, before he left.

_And he was alone ..._

"Laddie?" humphed Gimli on his side, and Legolas was surprised he had not heard or felt the dwarf standing there before. At the voice his guard dropped for a moment before he regained his self-control and in that short moment, he felt like falling again, that his knees would give away. He was tired. He wanted to cry.

"We should find the horse," the dwarf continued in a soft tone. He sounded sad, as well. Legolas' heart broke even more, it was like a remainder that he was not as alone as he thought, and it hurt. He did not look at his friend, not until Gimli laid his hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. When his dear friend looked at him, Gimli saw that the blue eyes were glazed by tears that the elf did not or could not let fall freely.

"Come now, Legolas, we can cry our hearts out later, but not now. I am sure that Arod is nearby...he stays so close to you all time that I am afraid he has fallen in love with you. Typical elf-thing, of course, trying to charm every creature you meet."

The dwarf's attempt to lighten his mood for some time pressed a tiny smile upon Legolas' lips, even if his heart felt still so heavy and broken. He let himself be led away by the dwarf from the cliff, a strong hand holding his wrist in a secure grip, and he did not dare look back. If he did, he would fall.

He could not fall. He needed to be strong.

A snort and the clappering of hooves caught his attention, and when he looked up Arod nosed at his master gently. The horse felt the strong smell of blood and the animal cringed slightly, but on instinct pushed the elf's chest softly and moved closer, trying to give him comfort. The intelligent animal felt a huge distress in his master and whined softly.

"See, I told you he is obsessed with you," Gimli chuckled. Sensing that his friend was not to answer, the shock and grief over Aragorn's fall still too near, he continued, "Now help me up on this beast will you... Legolas?"

The elf stood still leaning his head against Arod's head, fingers buried in his mane, his knees still weak. He was on the verge on tears, and cursing himself that he was this weak... So weak, that he could not even say a word, did not dare to move in fear that he would collapse. Gimli realized just how much Aragorn's death had affected him, he knew they were close but just not how close.

Having watching them in silence, one could have thought elf and man were brothers... He had to be strong, for Legolas then. He spoke again in a tone he had not used before toward the elf with words with the comfort he had not before dared to utter. "Legolas, listen to me, you are strong. You can go through this. And," he added, patting the elf's back, "there is still hope left. You still got this old dwarf with you." He paused and tried to search his friend's face. "Legolas, you are not wounded are you? By sword or any other weapon, I mean."

Legolas shook his head and slowly untangled his fingers from Arod's silver mane. Around them Men took them almost no notice, too busy in their work of gathering wounded and finding horses. But he was only aware of Arod and Gimli, not any other movements or presences or sounds around him. When Gimli gave him a questioning look and silently asked him to help the dwarf sit up on the horse, he simply nodded again. He could not speak, was afraid that he would only be able to let out a broken wail or cry out in his pain. To collapse.

_There is still some hope left; you're strong... _Gimli's words - filled with comfort and friendship like the one he had gotten years before from his friends the twin sons of Elrond, or stronger still, closer than theirs had been - yet echoed in his mind when they rode from there. He said not a word, and the dwarf behind him spoke very little. But his friend held him hard around his waist and he was no longer worried about rousing suspicion in the dwarf, that he would feel the bulge, ask him about it, and feel his tension and weariness. At least his beloved child was protected by those strong sturdy arms.


	8. Screams in the Silence of the Forest

**Chapter eight:  
Screams in the Silence of the Forest**

Wandering around restlessly, he found nowhere to go, no place to rest. Every time he stopped in his dazed pace he felt panic and pain and a tire so deep he would have fainted if he did not continue.

_You are strong..._

Why did everybody think that? He was not strong, he was weak. A failure. A coward. Fleeing, running, escaping...Trying to run away from something that was on his heels, something that whatever he did would hurt. He could not escape. All this pain and these thoughts trapped him like in a cage.

He wanted freedom. To run, free of all bonds, roaming open plains and deep forests, dance below the trees and sing in chorus with their old wise voices. Uncaring and young, not caring about the flowing time nor the war... Having no one following him, not following anyone else. He wanted to sleep, a long dreamless sleep and when he woke up, he would be safe and all right and all this would be over.

He felt so weak... Warrior and Prince were not titles fitting to him now, maybe once he ha felt like a prince should but it was not now. He was in chaos and wanted it to stop. But the whispering voices driving him mad would not stop. They would not stop, even if he screamed.

Suddenly, a great panic welled up inside of him and it took all his will to remain his pace steady and not to run by all his might out from the room filled with strange people, out from the fortress, over the plains... Back to deep lone forests. Alone, he wanted to be alone...

With a sharp turn on his heel and not a word to anyone, he left the large chamber and continued down the hall; not many were here, and the deeper he went, the emptier the corridors grew. Soon it was just him, the air and all this stone pressing around him. He felt mad, angry and guilty and sad. He wanted to scream and cry and ... and...

Suddenly all air went out of him, everything, all thoughts and all feelings and his knees gave in. Sinking down against the wall he crept into a small ball, trying to hide, trying to stop whatever was happening. But nothing was happening...He could not hear the silence. Unaware of how much his body trembled, he sat there in the corner as a wreck and cried silently. Tears he had held for so long streamed freely and now that he had given in, now that all barriers had fallen, all the protection he had built so hard was gone... he was unable to stop.

He didn't know how long time had passed when he looked up from where he had buried his face in his hands. Just minutes, or hours, he did not know. Did time even matter now? He had failed. Another sob wrecked through him. He was alone now. He had failed them all – and they wouldn't return.

_Aragorn ..._

He breathed in sharply. No air was enough to fill his lungs. He wondered if he maybe was dying, dying already... His head pounded, there was pain everywhere, in his body, in his soul... The fact that he might be wounded, that he was covered in blood, did not matter anymore. He was alone... A lone failure. Maybe he deserved all this. Deserved the pain. It was a punishment.

_Egil ..._

Suddenly he let out a long cry echoing his hurting and clenched his hands so tightly that nails buried in his own flesh and small amounts of blood started to run down his palms. The slight pain was nothing against the torment of his soul. It was so cold in here...Now there were no more tears to cry. Nothing, absolutely nothing. The sound of his voice rang between the walls of stone and disappeared into nothingness.

He was growing numb again, numb, and he knew that if he did not tell anyone soon, if he did not share this pain, he would explode again. Or he would collapse, and not be able to stand again. Unable to ...

_You are so weak, so weak ..._

The pain in his palms was not enough. He needed deep physical pain, maybe it would wash away all emotions... His hand gripped about one of his white knifes. He needed... A cold blade was put against his pale skin; for a moment he could see the reflection of his own blue eyes and they looked like ice. Pale, cold, numb, but so deep... A tingling pain traveled up his arm, and there was warm blood then, red and warm, a contrast against his paleness. He stared at it, not aware of what he was doing. That he was with child did not matter anymore. It did not even matter if he went to Hell doing this, all that had ever mattered was gone...

Egil was dead, his mother and his brother were dead, and now Aragorn... He had failed them, them and so many others. Maybe his child's soul would be spared some wrath, maybe he or she would be sent to the Heavens and meet Egil, his beloved...Egil could take care of their child much better than he ever could have. Egil was perfect. Egil was...

He cut deeper this time, and was not aware of that he was crying again. His sight was blurred and it was gray and cold and red, something warm and thick covering his arm. A sad sigh left his lips and he closed his eyes, feeling miserably and worthless and weak. "Egil...oh Egil..." His voice was tight, turned into a broken sob. "Oh Egil my love, I am so sorry...I failed...failed you..." He bit his lip so hard it bled.

_Failure..._

_Egil...Aragorn...Adar, adar..._

()()()

Corpses filled his vision, even thought it was dark, there was still so many corpses. It was war. It hurt. Hurt so much. In the midst of chaos he cried out his father's name.

"_Adar, adar_!"

No answers came, no calling voices, just nothing. Nothing but...

Screams. Someone was in pain and in danger. It hurt even more, and he ran, and the sigh that

greeted him made him cry like when he'd been a child in his mother's arms.

"_Adar, law_!"

Fire...it was burning, everywhere, the grass, the houses, the trees, everything living was dead and turning into ash. His home. His life. All the memories... The fire spread quickly toward the larger buildings. They were burning. The people were burning alive.

There, among dead and alive, were a flash of gold and green and silver. An elf with a stern blue gaze, but he stood no more tall and proud. Falling...The elf fell, was still falling, to the ground. The helmet fell off, revealing a pale handsome face. Silver locks spilled out upon the bloody grass and the orcs around leered. Dying, he was dying...There was so much pain.

Tears streamed down his face, watching the scene, time seemed to freeze. He had lost everything now. He...

Screams in the silence of the forest.

"..._Adar_..._!_"

()()()

"Legolas! Stop! You mad elf, you are the maddest I've ever met! Stop this madness! Legolas!"

That voice... It as like in a haze, a fog, far away, and everything he saw was blurred when he lifted his eyes. It must be an illusion, a dream, some trick on his mind. He was alone and worthless, who would care of him?

He recognized that voice ...

The voice was panicking and loud now, and close, then an arm laid around his should and a firm hand took away his knife from him. He wanted to protest, to scream, to struggle, but he could not move out of the stranger's grasp. He managed to whimper a weak "Leave me alone!" but the stranger would have none of it.

"Legolas, Legolas, open your eyes!" The pause that followed was tense, and thick, it was hard to breathe. It was just a thick blackness around him. The voice was so familiar now he realized. And filled with panic. "Legolas, look at me, please! Speak to me!"

Slowly he opened his eyes, and he could see a blurred face in front of him, but then his mind registered whom it was and he tensed. Not a word managed to cross his lips, he knew not if he should be angry or glad that he had been found.

Salty tears mingled with blood coming from his mouth. His body trembled violently when he gasped for breath. "...Gimli..."

His voice was barely audible, and he could not stop the tears. Again so weak, but even if it hurt deeply, it hurt not as much as it did before. Strong arms wrapped around his lithe frame, the secure embrace of a dear friend, and caring naught of what his friend thought Legolas buried his face in the dwarf's shoulder, crying still. He could not speak, and his breath was ragged, the only things crossing his lips were sobs and whimpers.

Gimli held him closer, murmuring softly in to him, stroke his back and his hair; his mouth was pressed against his golden hair. It was such a long time since he had felt this safe... He could not understand the words from the dwarf's mouth but they gave him comfort, as did Gimli's smell, the smell of earth itself that only a dwarf can wear, and the smell reminded of soft wet earth which would cover every sensible elf's hands when caring of plants and trees, it was deep as the mountains and rocks itself and being this close to such a deep being made him feel safer. He had something to hold onto, someone to trust...Trust... His fingers buried in Gimli's thick red beard. The comforting strokes on his back and hair did not falter, but the soft murmurings soon turned into comprehensible words, when finally the tears stopped and his sobs faded away. He was still trembling and did not even glance at his friend when Gimli spoke softly.

"We should find you something to eat," the dwarf murmured in the elven ear, like he was comforting a child. Legolas felt strangely secure by it and nodded weakly. "And some blankets as well and a more comfortable place to rest... Must look over these wounds of yours..."

Gimli helped the elf to stand and Legolas again let himself be led, by hand, but once he began to hear footsteps and voices and the sounds of a great mass of people he froze in place. How could he possibly go there like this? He was still weak and trembling slightly, and blood covered his hands and his left lower arm. Seeing great fear that he had not seen before in his friend's eyes, Gimli understood his dilemma. It was safe here he knew, they were deep in the fortress of Helm's Deep, and no foe could reach them here, and Legolas seemed calmer once they had gone back out of hearing range. Gimli gently helped the elf to rest against the wall, in a corner of the corridor.

Legolas' eyes looked at him with confusion when the dwarf took his weapons, including his bow and arrows, from him, but then realized his friend's fears and just nodded weakly. The dwarf promised to be back soon...

His heart felt heavy, and his limbs as well. Heavy with fatigue. He curled up on his side and pulled his cloak closer around him with a sigh, it was cold here...He missed being in Gimli's safe embrace. There he had been protected for a moment and now he was laid out bare and alone again. Time felt so long and minutes like hours. Before Gimli had come back, Legolas drifted into a deep sleep with his eyes half-closed, his mind shut out from the rest of the world.

There were no dreams, just a warm deep blackness.

()()()

When he returned, Gimli had his hands full, with blankets, some bandages, filler water-skins and food packed in fabric – bread, cheese, some dried meat. Most what he could find and be given. He had taken some detours so that he had lesser chance meeting someone that recognized him. If he was questioned he could not answer, not until Legolas was ready to. And after his look upon his lithe, pale companion he doubted it would be in a while.

Even though one of the strongest warriors he had ever met, he had to admit, the elf was still weak emotionally. Still his head was full of question – why would Legolas do such a thing? Why? Something must have happened, maybe something traumatizing in the past... Or in the present. Aragorn's fall... Had he known that the outcome of their mutual friend's death he would never had let the elf from his sight.

Legolas was asleep, curled up on his side. It was both a welcoming sight and one that also woke worry. The elf's eyes were almost closed. He had never before seen Legolas or any other elf for that matter sleep with their eyes closed, and Aragorn had once told him it was natural of elves to sleep with open eyes, so that they could see the skies and their beloved nature, even while in their worlds of dreams. Either Legolas was very tired, or wounded. Gimli knew it was both.

He put down the items in his arms on the stone floor next to the sleeping form. In silence he cast a blanket over the elf to keep him warm, but murmured softly before he started to wake him. He rather see the elf have a good much needed rest but there were other things that needed to be tended first.

"Legolas... Wake up, my friend. I am sorry to disturb your rest, but I need to check your wounds."

A soft murmur left Legolas' lips, something uncomprehending to him in answer, something in his native tongue. "_Goh...goheno... nîn...E...Egil..._"

"You know, you really must teach me elvish some day are you to continue like this," Gimli mused aloud to his friend when he started cleaning and bandaging the two deep cuts in his arm. The elf's skin had become impossibly pale, like the snow upon Caradhas or the small Simbelmynë growing outside Edoras. The red blood created a contrast that hurt in his heart to look upon, and many thoughts filled his mind again ... He knew not much abut the elf, really, but what he knew Legolas did not seem weak or in turmoil ... But he were, obviously.

"You have a lot to explain, my friend," he murmured softly as he pulled back the elf's sleeve over the wound. Legolas was still unresponsive. He had not moved an inch, his eyes still unfocused and half-closed. "Oh, bloody elves – a plague on their stiff necks!" But to Gimli's sudden exclamation, the elf did not answer.

Gimli leaned down the elf's weapons along with his own axes against the wall and the package of food before he settled down next to the elf, taking an own blanket wrapping it around him. They had slept in worse places in the past, in the wilderness, in Moria, on a snowy wild windy mountain even, but even if the ground of stone was hard, it was at least solid mountains near, like a memory of home, and walls surrounded them and warriors were not far away. It might be uncomfortable, but they were safe.

When he woke up, maybe Legolas would give him answers he was looking for. Far above them, the sky turned dark. A dark starless night. The moon had hidden behind large hovering clouds.

()()()

Something awoke him. There was something hard and cold...A stone floor, a solid wall of rock pressed against his back...But something else, something softer, and warm. It was almost like...a body, lying next to his own curled up form. At once his eyes opened wide, someone was there? He didn't remember when someone had...

Gimli, it must be Gimli. The dwarf had found him, stopped him from doing something terrible...His arm held nothing but a slight tingle, but no pain anymore. And it was bandaged, a slight pressure on his skin. He sat up in surprise of feeling such a thing and the blanket laid around him slipped down to his waist. Wait, blanket? He blinked in confusion. Gimli must have brought it... Said dwarf was asleep next to him, snoring loudly. He could make out his form, and next to him laid a bundle wrapped up in brown blankets, and both their weapons stood leaning against the wall.

Night was nearing its end, the sky above was colored in light red and shades of pink and yellow. He leaned back again and pulled the blankets close. Maybe he should fall asleep again... But when he focused his eyes on the sky above trying to drift off again, memories started to return. They were sometimes dim and faint, he could not make them out, but the sharp feelings hit him like a spear in the chest and he had to draw a few ragged breaths to push them away. The eve before...He had failed horribly...

Failed his child, and failed himself.

He had tried, _wanted_, to kill himself._ Wanted to die._

Now he could not sleep anymore. High above clouds passed by and slowly the air fresh air was filled with echoing sounds carried between the stone walls, from people and horses. Helm's Deep was waking up. Yes, now he remembered. They had ridden here, after Aragorn had...

_After Aragorn had fa- died._

Then, he had left his friend Gimli the dwarf, fled into long deep halls and open corridors, pressed himself towards the walls as if stone itself would take him and hide him. He remembered pain... A lot of pain. In his soul, in his flesh, cuts by words and actions and silver blades.

A grumble and the rustling sounds of movement next to him shook him out of his thoughts. Had he been a mortal he would have slipped his eyes shut pretending to be asleep, but now he was no mortal and did not do so. He laid there staring up at the sky, as Gimli slowly stood shaking of sleep, reaching for the packed bundle and opening it. The smell of cheese and meat drifted to the elf, and a almost inaudible grumble from his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since... He knew not when he last had had a meal. Not until the dwarf spoke did he look at his friend.

"Are you hungry?" Gimli asked, holding up some food to him. There was not much, bread and cheese and dried meat, and two flasks, but he did not know what they held.

He just nodded in answer and accepted the food with a small welcomed smile. They ate and drank in silence. When he was finished, Legolas waited for his friend to speak. He knew, of course, that there would be questions, sooner or later. Questions demanding answers. But no...He was not ready to tell...Tell about...Not yet... About the dreams, maybe, about how he ha failed, but not... Not of Egil and their child. Not yet. Not now.

He drank some of the water and waited more. He had to explain... Explain _why_. Was he lucky, Gimli would not meddle in it too much. He stared at his hands in his lap, trying to make his mind do some understandable but short answers that the dwarf might want, waited, waited. Time was so long...

Again so long, long as it had before when he had waited for Gimli. For each passing moment, a feeling of fear grew within him again – what would his fried think? Would he accept him as he was now? Would he think lower of him knowing of his dreams and all lives he had failed to save? Would he...? He knew not if he was glad or angry about the time.

His heart started to beat faster in his chest. Would Gimli turn him his back? Would he reject him and he would lose one of his best friends?

He heard Gimli take a deep breath before speaking. "Legolas, you got some explaining to do..."

Legolas did not look up. Just as he feared. "You know, I am your friend, and seeing you like that... I worry about you and care about you. Seeing you like that scared me, Legolas, scared me." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and find his wits. "Not many has done so before with this dwarf... Please, Legolas, just tell me what bothers you so much. Ease your heart, if so just a little."

He swallowed, tried to slow down the beat of his heart and failed miserably. "I-I..." He looked up at his friend. "I don't know if I can, Gimli. I can't." His voice felt so weak...It sunk into a hoarse whisper and failed him. Yes, he was weak. He could not even admit the dreams to his friend and it hurt him even more than saying something.

"Try, Legolas, please try," the dwarf said softly, about to lurk out _something_ from his friend. "It might be hard, but it'll feel better and easier afterwards. You have a friend here," he said and grabbed the elf's pale hand in his own, "and he trusts you."

The gesture made his voice work again, and looking into Gimli's eyes and seeing the friendship shine in his orbs, he dared to speak. Before he knew it, he spoke of his childhood and those dreams, the nightmares that haunted his every step and made it hard to breathe. The failures, the many times he had not succeeded stopping things from happening, death from catching the people he loved. Of Gandalf and Boromir and Aragorn. Of his brother, his dear mother ...

Gimli did not say much, but did not judge, did not look pitifully upon him, and Legolas continued with more courage than before. If he mentioned Egil and spoke of him as a friend or a lover he did not remember afterwards, but maybe it didn't matter. His tale ended where they sat, after Aragorn's fall. Ended with a heavy sigh when all air left his lungs, and the turmoil seemed fainter. It was laid behind now. He had done it. In the silence that followed, Legolas awaited nervously Gimli's reaction.

Would he be angry? He had not told them earlier and given no warning of their comrades' deaths before... Of course he'd be angry...Fear of being alone again built up again, and he started to tremble. Gimli held him then and started to murmur in his ear, a mix of dwarfish and Westron and languages he did not know, but there was hope and love under the words and the tone, and it warmed him. He was safe again, he was held, and Gimli would not let go. He would not let go. He was no longer falling...

He cried but not of pain but relief. Still he remembered Gimli's words, spoken to him a lifetime ago.

Maybe he was right. Maybe there was still some hope left. Maybe Aragorn was still alive...Maybe...


	9. Surviving

**Chapter Nine:  
Surviving**

Two days after the battle with the Wargs of Isengard, Legolas was pacing again. An uneasy feeling had grown within him during the night and the day, and it left him restless. Something was happening. A storm was going to hit soon... He was pacing also to push away his thoughts of Aragorn. There was grief deep in him still, sorrow for his lost friend, but not the same madness and trail of thoughts has it had been just a few days ago. Just a numb grief, an emptiness he tried to fill with his pacing.

He did not know where Gimli was. They had parted just an hour ago and he had not seen him since. Every time he looked at the dwarf he felt comfort but also embarrassment, now that he had laid himself to bare before his friend, let him seen so much of his soul and his pain.

()()()

They'd been given a chamber near the Royal ones. He was not so sure but suspected Gimli had a part of this, seeing his earlier state. It was a simple room without much furniture, two chairs and a small table, and two beds opposite to each other. It felt good to sleep on a real mattress again. He slept deeply, but then nightmares came haunting him under several times during the night – he saw battlefields, he saw blood and heard cries of men dying in despair and pain. Night...And rain falling upon cold stone. He could make out dark silhouettes, the flashing of swords glinted in the torches' light, and there was pain...Much pain, and death. Battle raged and it seemed to have no end...

That morning, he awoke gasping for breath and with a nauseous feeling. Out in the wild, he had always managed to slip away before anyone else had woken or seen it; they had not noticed his illness. In Edoras he had not felt it as much, and he was glad about that; but now it was back. Not good. Not good at all. He lay still and tense, did not relax until he clearly heard Gimli's snores from the other side of the room.

Slowly, he sat up and looked for the door leading to a shared bathroom that was connected to their and the chamber next to theirs. Pulling on his boots, he tip-toed over the stone floor, afraid to awake his friend, but Gimli slept like rock and not even thunder and rain could wake him by judging the look on his face. The door creaked slightly when he opened it and he froze, again glancing at his friend. But no sign of movement...He breathed a sigh of relief and left the door just ever-so-slightly opened as he emptied his bladder and bowel and the content of his stomach in the bathroom. Then he washed his face and hands and waited for several minutes, afraid to hear any noise from the other room. There was creaking sound, like something shifting in one of the beds.

When he came back he was met by a dwarf glaring at him, obviously in concern but also in ... anger? Resisting the urge to curse loudly he met Gimli's impatient stare. He knew that he wound sooner or later get a large piece of the dwarf's mind shared. It was not good, not good at all. He would find out.

_Questions. Questions demanding answers._

"You," the dwarf said, pointing at him, "have even more to explain now. Are you wounded further than what I know of? Or have you fallen ill? I did not think elves were prone to sickness."

"It is no concern of yours," he said with a stern tight voice which he had never used toward his friend before. He felt anger...irritation. But at least he could be alone again, at least Gimli would not ask in some time. He was not ready to answer yet. "Go back to sleep or polish your axe." Then he turned on his heel, grabbed his weapons by the foot of the bed and left the room. He did not look back, and did not see the disbelieving look on Gimli's face.

Gimli drummed his fingers against his sides. Something was obviously very wrong here. Elves never got sick, right? He had not meant to spy, but movement had woken him and seeing the bathroom door slightly opened, he had glanced inside and seen his friend literally throw up. That had never happened before. He knew not much of Elven anatomy or illnesses, but when illness hit them, something was seriously wrong.

()()()

He had escaped then, but it had been too easy. Soon Gimli would find him again and then there would be questions, questions demanding answers. He could not hide for much longer. But if something else could occupy the dwarf's mind... He shook his head. There was none and nothing. Gimli was stubborn, and being a dwarf did not make him stupid or less concerned. No, rather more. It was actually scaring him, what would his reaction be? Disgust?

Then suddenly a feeling hit him, rolling over him like a wave. It told him of a familiar presence and he lifted his head, afraid to see a short stubborn companion. There was not. Instead he looked right into a pair of gray, stormy eyes.

Aragorn.

Aragorn was back.

Aragorn was_ alive_.

It was like air had stolen for his lungs but after a short moment of staring, a small smile played on the edges of his lips. "_Le abdollen_," he commented. So Gimli had been right after all. There was still Hope. But now Estel looked tired and rugged, and he had dirt in his hair and on his clothes. There was a cut in his shoulder as well. Obviously his 'tumble off the cliff' had not left him totally unharmed. "You look terrible."_ 'Oh Estel, what a mess you have made of yourself'_, Legolas thought.

Aragorn's face, weary as it was, broke up in a grin. Seeing those gray eyes turn from grave and serious to light and happy, reminded him of another light that his friend would need. The grin disappeared in a confused look seeing the elf remove something from his neck.

Legolas laid the Evenstar in the man's hand and waited for his reaction. It was not a bad one.

Aragorn's wide eyes stared first at the pedant, then at his friend in disbelief. Legolas just smiled.

"..._Hannon le, Legolas, hannon le_."

All time, Legolas sensed another pair of eyes upon them and it were not Gimli's, luckily. It was Éowyn's. He wondered if she was as happy as him to see Aragorn, breathing, near, alive.

After a short embrace between friends close as brothers, Aragorn left to find the King and Legolas followed. Something was not said here. Something... Aragorn had ill news. He saw it in his movement and determined face. But when he was about to follow the man into King Théoden's large hall, a strong hand grabbed his wrist and he froze. There was only one who would... Gimli. So he was about to be questioned now.

But luckily, Gimli did not speak, at least not yet. Instead he too followed Aragorn and heard him converse with the King, but not letting go of the elf's arm. Legolas did not relax.

"A great host you say? How many?" Théoden's voice as aggravated.

"Ten thousand, milord, at the least," answered the ranger steadily. There was proof in his tone. Legolas and

Gimli did not doubt he had seen the large Uruk-Hai army with his own eyes.

Théoden turned to Aragorn with disbelief evident in both face and voice. "Ten _thousand_?"

"It is an army breed for a single purpose," Aragorn said and Théoden looked as if he were to await a death-doom. "To destroy the world of men."

Again, that anger Legolas had seen in the King of Rohan before flared up in his eyes, a stern look on his face. He was making a decision again... In the middle of turning and walking steadily down the hall he called after himself. "Let them come!" Legolas knew not where the King went, and he was not to ask either. His friends did not look like they knew either, but Aragorn followed steadily the King and Legolas had a feeling the two were soon to speak and confront again... Like in Edoras.

War was upon Rohan now. War was here. There was no other option than to fight.

Something tugged at his sleeve. It was Gimli, of course, who else could it be? The dwarf dragged him toward the corner of the room seeking privacy, and Legolas let him. There were not many others in the room, just some servant or other people they did not know passing then and now. The people avoided them, and he realized why. An elf and a dwarf alone among Men. Of course they were avoided.

Before Gimli could speak, Legolas kneeled so that he was in the same level as the dwarf and spoke. "I am sorry, Gimli, for this morning. It was not my meaning to be so ... angry at you."

Gimli nodded his head. "I am sorry as well, then, I was prying in affairs not mine. Since the night when you... I should not have spoken to you in such a way. But it was deep concern for a friend I felt, Legolas. I hope you find my apologizes to be real."

To his surprise, Legolas pulled him into an embrace. "Gimli, oh Gimli, you are a true friend. I was not thinking, while you were worried of me. I accept your apology."

"Good, we are past this," Gimli said with a smile. "Now, I must ask one thing of you. Promise me."

"Promise you?" Legolas asked, confused.

"That night when you tried to... Promise me to_ never _do such a foolish thing again." The dwarf's voice tightened a little, for the second time this conversation mentioning Legolas' suicide attempt.

Legolas nodded and squeezed Gimli's hand in confirmation. "I promise, my friend," he murmured softly. He just wondered whatsoever he could hold that promise or not ...

"Good. Good, you have been a great worry for this old heart," Gimli said, "but now things are already easier. So, no more stupidities?"

"No more stupidities, _mellon nîn._"

Legolas heart did not pound so fast in fear of having to answer, explain, anymore. At least his friend did not confront him – yet – about his ... illness. No such questions yet. No such worries yet. _Yet._

()()()

The armory was crowded of people. Young, old, men and boys. Half of them looked like they had never seen a weapon drawn before. All of them looked afraid. They were too few, there were not enough warriors. How were they supposed to fight?

"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli said to him on his side.

Legolas could not hold back a wry retort: suddenly, the strain of his own many long years felt heavy on his shoulders. "Or too few." This was hopeless; they were not going to win this battle. He saw the same doubt in his friend's eyes, and when spotting Aragorn he saw his figure was slightly bent by something, like carrying a heavy burden on his heart. Children, men, stable boys, they all looked lost, they did not know what to do. They were all mere babes in his eyes, and Legolas knew that in his own people's eyes, he were as well. And the doubt was there, evident in everyone's statue. And their eyes... Their eyes shone, of fear. Fear that bubbled up inside of him as well along with the panic he had managed to hold back for the last two days. But when Hope came back, so did every single one of these hard feelings as well.

"Look at them. They are frightened. You can see it in their eyes."

His voice was sharper than it tended to be. The whole room hushed, and the silence consumed him. They wanted explanation, they demanded him silently. When meeting Aragorn's eyes, the gray pools held his own sternly. Eyes, like many others, were staring at him. He had been stared at before ... But now he felt bare. He had laid out his own fears while telling of theirs. And of course they stared, they always did, out of the corner of their eyes. He was a strange creature, immortal among mortals. Now their stares were open and their silence thick. Not wanting to bare himself more to their ears than he already had, he lapsed into his native tongue. Aragorn's eyes turned harder.

"_Boe a hyn neled herain den caer menig_!" He could not hold back his desperate tone.

Aragorn spoke back in Elvish as well, and his answer was as determined as his face. "_Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras._" And his explanation was clear as day and Legolas felt foolish.

Eyes...Burning on him. He had to end this now. He should not had opened his stupid mouth in the first place! Finally losing his patience, his words came out strained. "_Aragorn, nedin dagor hen u'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer_!"

"And I will die as one of them!" Aragorn cried aggravatingly. Seeing Aragorn's reaction he regretted at once he had said this in the first place. He was just a big failure... And he might just have lost a friend, a brother, by saying all this, by giving in openly to despair. When Aragorn turned and left, Legolas made a move to follow, but Gimli felt his dilemma as well as Aragorn's and took a grip on his arm to hold him back. "Let him go, lad. Let him go."

Eyes stared at him still so hard. It hurt. Without a word to his friend he left, going the opposite direction of the ranger. People moved out of his way and he knew he had just ended up frightening them more.

()()()

Elladan gave a small smile and began walking side by side of his friend. He had come visiting along with his twin brother, Elrohir, in their search for orcs to kill, both more than happy to help fighting the shadow here. Legolas was close as a brother to them, they had supported him through his struggle to go on after his mother's death, and when the pair were apart from the wood-elf, they could never stop worrying for each other – after all, the three were experts at getting into trouble whatever they did.

He enjoyed Mirkwood at night, even though he knew not why exactly. Lanterns of secret make and warm, soft glows were set at various places in the garden and along the buildings and the many tree-bound homes. He could see the lines of worry on his friend's fair face.

"I have felt it as well, _mellon nîn_." He lowered his voice slightly. "That is why I have come, Legolas. My father feels how the shadow of Mordor has been disturbed...As one who is risen from sleep is taken notice, the Dark Lord's power is growing."

Legolas stopped as Elladan's voice paused, and the wood-elf sank down resting his back against the broad trunk of a tree. "Elladan, I feel...I feel that something will happen. Something great and powerful, but for good or evil, I do not know." He turned a desperate look upon his friend. "I-I am afraid."

_Fear..._

_Fear in his eyes..._

()()()

Blue sharp eyes watched the man put on armor and weapons. He could not read the man's expression, what was going through his mind. 'He must be disappointed with me', Legolas thought. He took a silent step forward and offered the man's sword to him, not saying a word until the man looked up. There was surprise in his eyes.

"We have trusted you this far - you have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Then Aragorn's pained look turned into a thankful grin. He took the weapon and laid a hand on his shoulder. Legolas felt the warmth of it burning like fire through the layers of clothing, and it was welcomed, he had at least not lost his friend or the trust that they had built during so many years.

"_Ú-moe edhored_, Legolas."

Behind them a gruff voice spoke up and when they turned they saw Gimli there, with a chain-mail over his short sturdy form like a dress reaching longer than to the floor. The dwarf's face was annoyed. The piece of metal armor clinkered. "If we had time I would have this adjusted!"

Neither man or elf could hold back their grins. Gimli cursed Legolas' perfectly raised eyebrows.

()()()

Night fell and it was then they could spot the orc army far away, their torches like a thousand dots of light against the blackness of light. Legolas stood by Gimli's side upon the outer wall, staring at the approaching dark mass and shuddered. This would be a long night. The stone around him did not make it better. Standing on the walls and below were the Men of Rohan, but they were not many, and they were too young or too old and inexperienced. These people could not fight...

Gimli patted the wall like a friend pats each other's backs. "This is good handiwork for Men, but if I was given a year and a hundred of my people, any army would break against this stone like water on rock."

"I do not doubt that," Legolas said. "Though I had given more for a hundred good elven archers from Mirkwood. They might have archers of Rohan here but they are too few, too few."

The darkness approached faster now, coming down the hills. Yet it was too dark for Legolas sharp elven eyes to make out any figures or details, he saw only the dots of light among the army. They were so many... And he felt alone, truly alone now, even with Gimli on his side. A lone elf among Men...

Aragorn walked up to their side; yet the man had not unsheathed his sword or drawn any weapon. Gimli was the first to speak. "Whatever luck that protects you, lad, let's up it last through the night."

Legolas nodded, confirming his words, still staring ahead at the approaching army. Gimli was here, Aragorn was her. He tried to tell himself that, and did not feel so alone anymore. Maybe there was some hope yet... "Your friends are with you, Aragorn."

Gimli glanced at elf and man, obviously the two had talked since the outburst in the armory; maybe it had been when he had interrupted the two with his chain-mail, he mused. "Let's hope they survive the night," he said gravely.

Legolas looked ahead and he hoped, as well. A thundering cloud approached, flashes of light stroking across the dark sky. The wind was howling. During a few moments when a white light lit up the army from Isengard Legolas saw them clearly. It was a frightening sight even for the toughest of warrior.

He truly hoped they survived the night.

()()()

_Elvish: _

_Boe a hyn neled herain den caer menig – And they should be, three hundred against ten thousand!_

_Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras – They have better chance at defending themselves here than in Edoras. _

_Aragorn, nedin dagor hen u'erir ortheri. Natha daged dhaer! – Aragorn, they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die!_

_Ú-moe edhored - There is nothing to forgive_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's note: **Here comes the battle of Helm's Deep at last! Let's hope our heroes lasts through the night... Not so very many flashbacks or dreams in this one, I think. The battle came to be quite a 'quoting scene', using many things from the movies as a base, including lines and speech, but also there is a bit book-verse mixed in. I might have dispelled 'Hornburgh' (tell me if this is wrong, but I hope it is not). Sorry about that. I make some 'time jumps' here, from detailed to overviews of longer periods. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ (just because I haven't have one for some time) I do not own anything you recognize, no matter how much I wish I did. Had I the Ring, Legolas would be mine! Only mine, mine, MINE! (But he isn't.)  
Also there is a mention of a new character, all right not new, but for this fic he is. If you've read the book I'm pretty sure you know who he is (I think he's mentioned in the movie as well)._

**------**

**Chapter ten**

------

It was not silence here. There was thundering and thousands of footsteps, a mass moving closer and closer. Torches in the dark. And from the sky fell heavy rain like the clouds above had given up any hope of survival and were to collapse. But there was still hope...still hope...

Words repeated again and again in his mind. They were building a barrier about his soul and heart, a courage which might help him and lead him. He had to survive this. A promise made long ago, hoarse whispered words, came back to him again, like so many other times over the last hours.

_'Promise me...take care of him...'_

Egil's last words. He was not to fail him... He could not. No matter what. His lover had thought their child as a son all from when he had told him of his condition. A son. He would be so beautiful...

'I have failed or been near to failing so many times already, _meleth nîn_. I cannot do so again. I made a promise,' he thought. Still he stared ahead at the dark army. 'A promise...'

The Uruk-Hai had stopped now. Air was tense with excitement and fear and anger. Hatred so deep the mountains could echo about it, a memory of this battle, long afterwards. Then the dark creatures lifted their spears and hit the ground with a clashing echoing sound. The earth shook. They waited.

Another time, and another, the thousands of spears met the ground. Again. The ground beneath their feet trembled. There was no other sound than the spears shaking the earth and heavy rain hitting metal armors. Wait seemed long, longer even. The pace of the spears fastened. So did the pounding of Legolas' heart. He felt anger toward these creatures, and he held his bow in a firm grip, knowing that soon enough it would serve its purpose.

On his side Gimli was impatiently stamping his foot and held his axe pressed against his chest. Excitement shone in his dark dwarven eyes. Any tiredness he might have had earlier was gone with the wind. "What is happening out there?" he asked, jumping slightly up and down, annoyed at his elf friend for picking such a bad spot. He saw not a thing, the wall was too hight for his small statue.

"Shall I describe it to you?" Legolas said and gave his friend an amused smile and a delicate raised eyebrow. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Despite to the awaiting fight and all death it would bring, the dwarf laughed, and the elf's heart felt not so heavy anymore. At least Gimli saw some light and hope in the awaiting darkness.

_A promise I am intend to keep._

The archers standing by the front line were preparing to fire. With one graceful move, Legolas lifted his bow with an arrow notched on the string, pulled back and ready to aim. His body tensed with the weapon, his energy was building up to burst into almost madness, but controlled madness one could say, as the arrow was sent to fly._ Just a little longer... _Gimli stomped impatiently on his side. The pounding, a steady loud rhythm echoing through his bones, shaking the ground, continued. A pulse with their blood. _A little..._

An arrow from somewhere, let go in fear or in impatience they did not know, but silence fell like a sheet over the monsters below. A creature fell with an arrow through its neck.

"Hold!" cried a voice.

Energy. It rushed through the large dark army below and their howls and cries of anger echoed between stone and plains, and then they were rushing towards the Deep with madness on their step. Rain of water was mixed with rain of arrows piercing their bodies and corpses spread out among them. Legolas let his arrow fly. Through the dark approaching mass he saw not where it hit, and he could not disguise any victim's cry among the hundreds already in the air.

"Send them here!" Gimli said, shaking his axe. He was tired of waiting. "Let some orc necks within my axe's reach!"

The army was not splitting up slightly and Legolas' eyes widened when he saw the large objects being raised towards the wall. "_Pendraith_!" he cried, then realized that no one could understand, and Gimli could not see. "Ladders, Gimli! Ladders!"

The same warning echoed among the men on the wall and beneath. They were drawing their swords, preparing to fight the devilries of Saruman's face-to-face.

A pleased look flashed over the dwarf's stout face. "Good!" Finally some good sport coming in!

Some of the Uruks hurled arrows up towards the wall, many archers fell due to their positions upon it; while others of them started to climb the ladders. One by one they reached the Men to make close combats. Gimli gave a battle cry in his native tongue and threw himself into battle. Legolas did not miss the surprised look on one of the Uruk's face before it died by the dwarf's axe, before he himself focused his attention elsewhere. Two bad-looking Uruk's all with warrior paint in their dark faces launched on him. The first fell with an arrow through his head and the next moment the second one faced the same fate. And so, the battle of the Hornbourgh began, a raining concentrated haze.

After some time, his deadly dance paused slightly, his arrows were almost none left of so he had to use his knifes instead. Somewhere behind him Gimli cried, "Two already!"

Legolas turned and saw the dwarf pat his axe. "I am already on twenty!" he answered. Soon he'd be forced to search for arrows on the ground.

"Eh, I am not letting any pointy-ear out-score me!" was the dwarf's immediate reply hearing the elf's much higher number.

Legolas listened only with half ears. A sharp sword came down to strike his chest, but he was quick in his moves and blocked the heavy blow with both his knifes. In one graceful move he pierced the Uruk's flesh just in below its shoulder, pulled out the knife letting the dead body fall unhindered to the ground and killed the next. He noticed how he was pushed further and further away from his friend during the battle, soon he lost sight of him in the swirling masses. His hair was plastered to his face. His elven vision did not help him to see better through the rain than anyone else either.

Time floated away at a steady pace but this element was lost to the warriors now. The only thing they were aware of was the death, the blood, and the heavy rain falling from the skies. He knew not much time had passed – sometimes he heard Gimli's roar, sometimes not, but when he did it was at a steady pace - "Nineteen, twenty, twenty_-one_!" He was sure he'd beat the elf's score by far.

But something pulled him out of his haze of slashing, killing, beating – a cry. The voice rose over the chaos and reached his sharp ears. Aragorn...! "Legolas! _Togo han dad,_ Legolas! _Dago hon_!" The man was shouting louder now, his face full of distress. "_Dago hon_!" His eyes focused, and he realized what Aragorn meant and his moves quickened.

The dark army below the wall was making way for something – someone – at the side of the gate. A tall Uruk Hai was running with a large torch in its hand. Running, for something... Legolas knew not what but feared he and everyone else where soon to find out.

One arrow was released from the bowstring and it embedded deep in the Uruk Hai's flesh. Another one flew through the air. A third. The beast stumbled slightly but was still running, coming closer and closer to its goal. Legolas felt panic risen, he couldn't let that happen. Could not. No... No!

The Uruk Hai threw himself below the wall and out of Legolas' view. The next moment, a large explosion shook the air and a large area of the wall flew in thousand parts, blocks of stone and rocks falling down among both Uruk Hai and Men. Water rushed like a river onto the black army. Panic rose along with anger, a shared feeling among the Men. Many, foe and friend alike, were thrown like rag dolls in the air and landed dead or alive or dying upon the Keep, among their enemies or their own army. Chaos, more so, grew. Legolas felt fear, that familiar bottomless pit in his stomach, when he saw Aragorn fall.

Then a familiar cry echoed in the air over the alarm. "_Baruk Khazâd!__ Khazad ai-ménu_!" Gimli was waving his axe in mid-air and killed several enemies in one, two, three strokes, before he leaped off the broken wall and landed upon the dark foes below, anything to hinder them to reach Aragorn and the several other men that lay on the ground. Legolas could not see much through the mass, but next moment he saw the ranger Aragorn was on his feet and held his sword high. Quickly the elf made his way to help Gimli, who at the moment was alone in the enemies' midst.

"Gimli!" he cried, his voice hoarser than it used to be. There was so much panic around him. The Uruks had not only broken the wall and weakened their defenses greatly by this, they were also losing the gate to the beasts. It would not hold much longer. "Gimli!" But the dwarf did not hear him, and give him no signs of hearing at least. He could not hold back a "_Rhaich_!" before he ran down over his enemies. Before he grabbed a shield to slide down the stair to reach his friend he thought, 'Madness, utter madness!'

Letting go of arrows and killing in quick session, he soon reached the bottom of the stair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gimli fight with three much larger Uruk-Hai. One of those looked especially dangerous, holding a metal club in its hand. It could easy enough break one's scull and helmet in one well-wielded stroke. He had just the time to call a warning before he reached the bottom, and slipped off the shield. The metal object flew into an attacking Uruk's neck and it fell never to move again. Legolas pierced the next one with his arrow, before shooting the same arrow with the third. All movements were done in such a speed that a mortal would not be able to see and comprehend what was happening until it was too late. But he felt not sorry at all for the Uruks. Not at all.

Aragorn must have gotten new orders from the king, because when he reached Gimli and helped him defeat the dark foes Legolas heard the ranger's voice cry out loudly so that many Men should hear. "To the Keep! Fall back to the Keep!" Legolas looked up then and Aragorn saw him. "_Legolas,_ _nan barad_!_ Barad_!"

Gimli would have none of it, and he tried to fight him off when Legolas grabbed his arm to drag him away from the current position. When they reached the upper levels Aragorn was already there along with King Théoden and his guard. The King was holding to his side rather painfully, no doubt he was wounded. The three friends, Man and elf and dwarf, were throw into battle by tha Gates soon again; the large wooden doors were weak and about to break any moment. A large hole had been like eaten and many, many dark enemies could be seen beyond. This was turning worse by each passing moment.

More and more Men carrying weapons and also timber came, forcing Legolas out of the way and he lost sight of Gimli and Aragorn again. Cursing under his breath, he hurried up to the wall again, knowing his bow would do better job there, as long as needed. As long as the defenses could hold to that point, rather. If just Gandalf had been here! The istari would have been able to frighten these foes, defeat them and kill them easily, would he not – he was a maia for Heaven's sake! Why had he had to leave just a few days before the battle? 'Because he knew, and is up to something...' was the reminder's voice in his mind.

He was too distracted by an enemy in front of him to notice how another sneaked up behind him and raised its blade. Not until cold steel cut through his clothing and flesh, leaving a foul gash in his right arm, and a smaller cut in his lower back. Cursing loudly, in words that would turn Thranduil redder than Gimli's beard in embarrassment, he turned around and killed the Uruk with one slash at the throat. Blood, luckily not his own, had since long splattered his tunic, but now it on his arm and his back also mixed with elven. The pain was only faint, barely noticeable at all. He was too concentrated on the battle to actually feel pain in the body at all.

Something was happening in the army below. Ladders, larger than the ones before, holding almost fifty foul Uruks clinging to each one of them, raised slowly toward the wall with the help of catapults and different mechanisms which he did not see and did not´think of. This was bad. Reaching for an arrow he raised his bow, hoped not to be interrupted just for a moment and prayed to the Valar his aim was truth. He was not disappointed. The arrow flew through a metal-ring connecting the nearest ladder to a machine of Saruman's doing and the rope holding the whole thing together broke. There was a short moment when the large ladder stood still in mid-air, before it started faster and faster falling backwards. Cries and howls filled the air, before it fell down on the dark army and the many creatures that once had been breathing and moving there did not move more. Legolas did not feel anything but relief over the loss and aimed for the next rising ladder. It was just within reach. Again, many Uruks fell to the same fate. Unfortunately, other large ladders had managed to raise to the wall and now the monsters welled up the wall and the Keep.

Below, the flow of Uruks toward the gate has temporarily stopped, thanks to Aragorn and Gimli; but the gate was giving in and they could not hold this much longer. Now they would have to fall back to the inner levels, the last walls and the last point of defending this Keep. Legolas killed and searched for something that might help him. He needed to get his friend from there, otherwise they would never make it alive. Among piles of corpses, weapons and various objects he found rope.

"Aragorn! Gimli!"

The two warriors below must have heard him, he saw how they steadily moved toward the edge of the bridge all while fighting; they knew where he were, or at least one of them did, and must have a feeling what he was about to do. He threw the rope over the edge and hoped it would be long enough for their reach. Suddenly it grew heavy and he saw Aragorn grasp it. Gimli was clinging to the Man and the rope as if it was the last link to the living world. In a way, it was. It was a dangerous work pulling them up, the wall was high and enemies all around, but some Men which he never could identify were holding the Uruks at bay from him and other warriors, archers, there. His back protested, a burning in the wound, but he ignored it; soon but maybe not soon enough his two friends were up. But not safe. No, no one were safe here.

"We must go back to the Keep, the inner levels!" Aragorn said. "Legolas, Gimli!" They were already following him. Voices cried, weapons clashed. Below, the gate was broken and a black stream of Uruk Hai welled inside.

"Retreat, retreat! They have taken the Keep, retreat!"

On light quick steps Legolas followed his comrades through a iron-door which they blocked, much with the help of Gimli, with stones and loose rocks. Running, hurrying, after the King and his men, Legolas did not stop shooting at any enemies in sight once. Finally they reached the last protective gate, it was of wood but steadied slightly with iron. But this would not hold much longer than the gate. It would not. They were forced to hurry more, block the gate with anything they could find in the chambers inside – tables and furniture, timber, broken spears and axes. But the King stood aside and his face was full of regret.

"Let it be," he said "It is over."

Legolas and Gimli were left to help the Men heave anything they found to block the door, while Aragorn stepped away with a stern face. His voice was louder than usual now and he spoke quickly. "You said this Keep had never been taken as long as your men defended it!" the ranger cried at the King. Legolas felt his friend's distress rise. "They still defend it! They have died in defending it!" A loud bang echoed in the hall and men stumbled as the door turned slightly inwards, first a little then more. The Uruks were breaking through. Men and elf and dwarf knew this; they drew weapons, sword and bow and axe raised high.

Aragorn grabbed Gamling, an old man and warrior that had fought by his side some times during the battle but also close to Théoden always, close to the king as he were, by the arm. "Is there any other way for the women and children out of the caves?" At least they had to survive this – the innocent people, young and old who like the Men on the wall had no desire to fight but also less strength than those here. If the Uruks found them they would not survive. They would be lost to long painful deaths. That could not happen. Gamling's face was in a frown, and Aragorn's worry grew. "Is there no other way?" he demanded.

"There is one, it leads into the mountains," Gamling explained. "But they will not get far, the Uruk Hai are too many."

Not paying heed to the man's warning knowing it too well by heart himself, Aragorn send the two nearest warriors to hurry to the caves, the entrances behind these chambers. They had to hurry now. The women and children had to be brought into as much safety as possible.

_Bang. _The door creaked loudly at the pressure from the outside. And outside, the sun was fighting up over the hills and her light came shining through the chamber's windows.

"Ride out with me." Aragorn's weary voice was heard suddenly again, addressing the King, whom had given no answer to him. What else could he, or they do, now? They were soon about to die, every single one of them. Men, elf, dwarf, warriors, farmers, stable-boys. Women, children, old, mothers. Every single one of them. They had to do something! If this was a last solution that might not even work, they had to take their chances. It would at least give the people more time to make it out from the caves. "Ride out and meet them."

Théoden looked at Aragorn, then at the Men by the gate, and nodded. He would do this. No, _they_ would do this. "To death."

"For Rohan," was what Aragorn said. Legolas would have smiled had the situation not been so dire. Yes, Estel was back. Even at this distance he felt the change of the Man's mood, from despair to stern will.

Men hurried away from the gate in the chamber, ran to fetch horses in the nearer stables. Hurry, hurry. There was not much time now. Legolas found Arod and mounted him gracefully. He'd have Gimli with him as well but the dwarf had gone to the Hornbourgh's large Horn, the center of the tower. The Éorlingas came forth, a small troop of two dozen men on horses. The door trembled violently.

Théoden's voice rose, his weapon was draw along with over twenty others. "Now for death, for ruin, and the red dawn!" Voices rose in battle cries. There was a last loud bang and the gate fell in a heap. The black masses were stopped by the group of four-footed animals running at them in increasing speed. Shrieks of panics echoed along the walls.

A long deep tone, like the mightiest of horns, echoed over the Keep and the valley, reached over the plains. It still trembled the air itself when the riders reached the outer gate, now in a broken pile, and rode down over the bridge. Panic rose among the Uruk Hai army.

The sun had risen. Upon the hill was a silhouette, and a light was radiating from it. A white light. A horse and a rider; lone over the battling armies. No, not alone. Another rider, clad in armor, came to the first one's side. Sword drawn he gave a battle cry and turned his steed toward the Uruk Hai and the Keep. Following him were hundreds of men, riding as well.

Legolas looked up, rather feeling than hearing or seeing their approach at first. Hope had spread among the Men, and panic among the black beasts. There was blinding light but he could make out faces over the mass and chaos.

_Mithrandir!_

The wizard was a white star in the lead of hundreds of warriors, coming swiftly down the steep hill. And the sun rays shone down and into the Uruk Hai's eyes so they were blind and their spears were no longer pointing at the approaching enemies. No, they were blind and at chaos and afraid, truly afraid. A light army crashed down on the dark like two storms met each other. He heard Théoden's voice cry out over the masses. "Éomer! Éomer of the Rohirrim!" So the man had come, then.

But something was happing – something was following, coming slower but at a steady pace down the hills and from all directions. Legolas saw it now and he felt both surprise and joy. Eyes wide he would have stared at the approaching mass, but battle took much of his concentration, even though he saw it from the corner of his eyes and has soon as opportunity took him he watched in fascination and cried out in joy. Mithrandir did work in wonders – how else did he manage two armies here to their help?

Trees, walking trees. Unlike anything else he had ever seen before. They were coming over the plains with creaking wood and limbs, anger radiating from them and touching his soul, his mind. In panic the Uruk Hai were spread and they fled now, from the Strange Light and under the trees. They did not come out from under their shadow again. Legolas did not doubt that they were dead.

Voices echoed above and around him. Mithrandir was smiling, and the Men hoorayed over the orcs' flight.

"Victory! We have victory!"

---

After the battle, Legolas found his friends outside the Keep, by the edge of the strange, new forest. He stared at in fascination, and longed for nothing more than to go to the trees and speak to them, walk under their shadows. He'd be protected there. Voices, old and wise by age, murmured to him. The trees' spirits reached out and felt something different, a First-born was here, and he was not alone... He recognized them now; their voices were so different from one another they were easily printed in your mind. He had met some of these before, in Fangorn. They felt his child...

"Forty-two, master Legolas, was my last score." A gruff voice pulled him out his musing. "Typical elf thing. Here we are at the edge of a battle-field, and you stand there enchanted by your trees." Gimli humphed and glanced at the 'forest'. "I do not like the look of it, almost like a part of Fangorn has followed us here... No, I do not like it at all."

Was he not so weary, Legolas would have protested. "Forty-two?" he asked. "Then you have beaten me by one, though I do not envy you, I am glad to see you alive and whole." He turned to look at his friend, and his eyes caught sight of a foul gash across the dwarf's temple. "Gimli! You are wounded."

"It's but a mere cut, laddie. And my axe has a notch, that last orc wore some foul collar. But there must be more than this to fell this dwarf!" But he let Legolas lead him around the 'forest' where a river ran with mountain water, and many wounded were already there. Legolas cleaned his wound and made to bandage it, ignoring Gimli's humphed protests now and then. The water of the river reddened slightly by the dwarf's blood and for a moment Legolas stared at the image, red water floating away, losing control of his mind that moment and letting old memories resurface.

"Laddie? If you do not mind, you can remove that; the water is cold like ice!"

He was shook out from his own world and to the real one, quickly lowering the wet cloth from Gimli's temple. "I am sorry, Gimli, I was lost in thought."

"Again!" the dwarf blamed. "You are a lot worse than I thought."

Suddenly a shadow covered the pair from the clear morning sun, and looking up they saw Aragorn approaching. "Greetings, Legolas, Gimli!" Aragorn said. "I am glad I see you two whole." His gaze swept from the dwarf's bandaged temple to Legolas' arm, where the tunic was bloodied. A frown began to form on his face. "Or at least as whole as the battle lets you be. Legolas, has any one yet had a look at that?" He gestured at the wound.

Suddenly remembering the injuries inflicted on him, Legolas glanced at his arm and then at his friend. He had been too lost in thought to think of it, too busy with Gimli's wound and during the battle the thoughts of pain had been pushed away. He did now, actually, feel a growing tingle in his flesh. "It is not so bad," he said as a protest when Aragorn undid a lacing and rolled up his sleeve. The gash was not bleeding, nor very deep.

"Had you worn an armor like sensible people, that wouldn't have happened," Gimli commented, innerly glad that the elf was not deadly wounded. How he could have missed the gash in the first place? Maybe his own injury made him this dizzy... Yes, that would be it.

"Had you ought to be more careful with your head, that wouldn't have happened either," Legolas retorted, nodding at Gimli's bandage. The dwarf scowled.

Aragorn was now wounded, at least not badly, as far as Legolas could see. Being examined made him feel uncomfortable. At least no one had noticed the gash on his back. Maybe he could be left to deal with it alone – after all, was he to be examined there, he would have to remove his tunic and they would see what he had managed to kept hidden for so long...

"It should heal nicely. If you do not fall into some trouble in the process, that is," Aragorn added as he washed his hands. Legolas rolled down his sleeve ignoring the remark.

"We should go find something to eat," Gimli suggested. He was tired and weary and hungry, he longer for a solid meal and a hot bath and warm bed. At least one of those would be satisfying for this dwarf for a while. Legolas agreed and stood, but Aragorn did not join them.

"I will seek out Gandalf, he said he would speak to King Théoden of a dire matter, and I want to make sure there will be not much trouble ahead of us yet," he explained before he left.

"Let us hope Gandalf has not seen some other Uruk Hai army," Gimli said to Legolas. "That'd be most unfortunate."

_------_

_**Author's notes**: They survived the night, and a little more so. Good, good. Hope you liked. Imagine how they will react once they found out...And how annoyed Aragorn and Gimli will be when finding out of Legolas' back injury as well. I will worry their hearts out, I am afraid. *hugs them*_

_**Elvish (Sindarin)**:  
Meleth nîn – My love  
Pendraith! - Ladders!  
Togo han dad, Legolas! Dago hon! - Bring him down, Legolas! Kill him!  
Rhaich! – Curses!  
Nan barad! Barad! – To the Keep! The Keep!  
(Rin hannaid – Many thanks)_

_**Dwarfish (Khuzdûl)****:**  
Baruk Khazâd! – Axes of the Dwarves!  
Khazâd ai-ménu! – The Dwarves are upon you!_

_**Review answers:**_

_Shayna-hp: Rin hannaid for the review, very glad you like this! Here you are, the battlöe. I'm afraid I didn't get so many feelings in it, more like action instead. Next chapter: aftermath, and when aret the guys going to find out? Poor Legolas, this begins to get too much for him. _

_minikyet: Thanks, and yes, Gimli will soon find out. Such a secret leaks one time or another. _

_glostarz: Another great reader! Though I am not so sure if Legolas appreciate this so far. (I should fetch Egil for him so he'll feel safe for a time, don't you agree?)_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's notes:** I tried to find both sad and light moments here... Failed to get so much emotions when I tried to fit in quite a lot of dialog. I've changed the plot slightly, it was some time since I last took a good look at movie or book, but well here it goes..._

**-----**

**Chapter eleven**

**----**

The two found Aragorn with Gandalf an King Théoden just half an hour later, after a meal on bread and cheese – even thought simple it had felt delicious and judging by the looks Gimli had given him, he must have eaten like a starved. Legolas had wanted to go to the trees again, but Gimli protested loudly, he wanted to keep an eye on the elf without being dragged into some bloody forest. "You can go to your beloved trees and sing to them later, lad." Legolas glowered at his words and followed reluctantly.

They would as soon as possible leave to Edoras again, the King Théoden would rather be there than here. Legolas felt that Gandalf had something else in mind and in store for them later, but istari did not share yet. But Legolas remembered a dream he had had almost like a lifetime ago ... There had been a large black tower, Orthanc, there then. Mayhap Gandalf would see them visiting Saruman, the double-playing mind behind this attack. Legolas had heard of his treachery toward both Sauron and the White Counsel, and come to the likely conclusion that the wizard wished to take the Ring for his own.

_Orthanc... _He had not yet seen the strong tower, and right now he had no desire to see it either. Saruman was there, and he was a wizard. A fear grew within him, could wizards feel souls the same ways as the trees did? If concentrating on it, could Mithrandir or maybe Saruman sense his child? He was afraid of that, truly afraid.

He had to tell them, his friends, soon. Greater battles would surely come and when they came he was not so sure if he could fight. He did not want to be left behind either, but he knew that there were no other choices ahead. Within a month he would be showing clearly, glaringly pregnant for everyone's eyes. "_Amarth malch_", he breathed. But what could he do? Run away, again? There was nowhere to go now, nowhere to flee, nowhere to...He should no have come here in the first place, everything had become so complicated. Should he had fled to the wild, alone, and tried to survive there? And after the birth, what then? Would he or the unborn child even survive that far if he did? No... No, of course not. There was nothing that could change this anyway. He was stuck here and soon he had to explain. 'Not yet', he reminded himself. 'There is still time, and they are your friends.'

Friends. He wondered how deep that went. They could never understand...but maybe, they would at least not hate him because of this, they maybe, maybe, would not look upon him with disgust... His heart troubled by so many thoughts again, he left them, saying he would visit the 'forest'. Mithrandir had explained he had not called for them; they had not even come at his command but at a deeper magic, elder than the time of when the elves sang and the dwarves' hammers rang.

At the edge of the large green lush, where it met the river, he could see the Keep clearly yet hide behind the trees from sight easily. No one were close by; many were frightened of the trees and dared not to approach, which served him well right now; he heard only the people walking, talking, busy by work he did not know what. But no one was here to stare or to question.

He undid his tunic and removed his weapons, and shed the garments of his upper body. He washed the tunic first, then laying it out to dry in the sun upon a rock. The coldness of the water tinged slightly against his skin as he washed himself getting rid of dirt and blood, but it was a welcome pain, however slight. He knew that many thought elves and therefore him as well unable to attach to dirt. Which was not true of course. He'd be as dirty as any other of any race if they rolled in a pool of mud or the like; one might just do it with a little more dignity.

The sun warmed his back, though it was still quite cold. Fresh winds blew freely over the plains; only hindered by the large green trees. They had now rooted to the ground and stood a large shadow. Legolas felt their thoughts and they told him they would leave, soon, as long as 'soon' was for a tree. Their speech was slow, only an elf could listen to the amazing sound for long.

A sharp breeze created goose bumps over his skin. He knew not much of what happened to his body while pregnant, more than the obvious; as he was unmarried, or believed so at least, no one had told him such things yet. On later days, he found that instead of illnesses, he felt uncomfortable much of the time, itches on his back, his clothing felt too tight around his body; he was warm in a chilled room and cold in a heated sunny day. He knew he had to be more careful, his body was growing weaker now it was nursing an unborn inside of him, prioritizing other things. Knowing it was normal, this, the changes, did not make it easier.

He cursed that he was not able to see his wound on his back or even treat it, else than cleaning it. He removed the bandages on his left arm, those which Gimli had put there, and felt disappointed when the two cuts had not healed much. But well...other priorities... He glanced down at his swollen belly. If any of his friends saw him now they would see a clear swell which would not be natural to any elf, and since he had his whole life been slightly on the thin side, Aragorn would at once just be able to stare. 'It'd be wrong to blame you, little one,' he thought and laid a hand on his belly. 'It'd be unfair.' So he sat in several moments, and the sun shone on his back and his hair spilling over his shoulders like a waterfall of gold.

Then, something interrupted. The trees.... They murmured, a warning. Someone was approaching. Quickly he stood and just when he had reached for his shirt, that he always worn underneath his tunic, someone emerged from the side of the shadowing trees. His tunic still lay drying in the sun. He managed not to pull the shirt over his head, but stood with his arm raised instead so that the garment covered his swelled stomach.

"There you are, Legolas!" Gimli said. "I have searched this place inside and out now for you. First I was afraid you'd be stuck among the branches of these," he gestured at the trees, "things... but I am glad to find you at least _beside _them instead of _in_ them." He sat down on the rock next to the laid out tunic and the elf's weapons.

Instinctively Legolas pressed the shirt even closer to his body and sat down in the grass. "How is your head?" he asked without looking at his friend, taking off his boots and bathing his feet in the stream.

"Nothing bothering except having this on all the time," Gimli said knocking softly at the bandage. "Your arms, are they healing? I see you have removed the bindings. I hope you do not have any more cuts hidden somewhere..." he added with a pointing look.

Suddenly Legolas felt ashamed. There would be no point, anyway, hiding the back wound from Gimli now, yet... And, there was no longer any privacy to be demanded. "They are fine, thank you." His tone was a waving-away one, telling that he clearly wanted to speak of something else. "Were there any reason except some company for searching me out?" Still, he held his shirt in a tight grip to hide his bulge as much as possible. Gimli did not comment on it, though the dwarf's eyes strayed sometimes to his body. This was the first time Gimli saw him bare like this. Legolas was sure his hairless body was perplexing. Unlike Men or Dwarves, no hair grew anywhere on him except on his head.

"Aragorn wanted to say that we are leaving for Edoras as soon as possible, within the hour," Gimli reported, then smiled, one that began slowly in the corners of his mouth and grew into a broad grin. "And actually, company is strange but not so very bad anymore with you. But, you are an elf, and all elves are odd – I mean _mad_ creatures."

"If you mean the Wargs ..." Legolas began but Gimli good-naturally interrupted him.

"..Trying to bite off your limbs, yes," the Dwarf said with a smirk. "That I meant."

"...That was an incident!" Legolas protested. "I had to defend myself, or I would have been eaten."

"Had I not come in time, you surely _would_ have been eaten!" The dwarf's eyes glinted with mirth. Legolas gave him a sharp but friendly glare. He was relieved, still. No questions, no frowns, no demands of his condition. It was a good sign he guessed. 'Are you still so sure, that they will hate he child and you?' whispered a small voice in his head. It was true...perhaps... he was too frightened. They were his friends were they not? 'And friends trust each other, do not keep such secrets from each other...' It continued whispering in a blaming tone and he suddenly tensed again at the thought of their reaction, what would they say or do once they found out, but tried to relax when he caugth himself, realizing Gimli was looking oddly at him.

"What?" he demanded.

"Oh, I think you are wandering again with that odd mind of yours," Gimli said, pointing at his head. "I must fetch Gandalf you get rid of this problem I think. Though... He too has an old and strange mind. Mayhap there is not much he could do."

Legolas chuckled. "Say that to him he would turn you into a toad."

"Elves," the dwarf muttered under his breath. Then he looked up, hearing a trotting sound and to both friends' surprise Arod stood there, bending his head to drink of the water. "Now this beast has strange manners, as well as this people; I thought their horses to be back in their stables," Gimli commented and got to his feet. Legolas took the opportunity when Gimli had his back turned to him and slipped the shirt over his head. He had just managed covering his belly with it when Gimli turned, squinting at him. "Either this beast has a mind of its own or he is in love; either way he must have been looking for you, crazy elf."

"Mindless dwarf," came Legolas' retort. He was putting on his tunic again. Gimli was sure that piece of garment had been lying wet on the rock as he came, maybe it was some elf-trick making it dry quicker, just like the cloaks of Lothlórien could hide them so easily. Ah, well, Legolas was an elf. Even now when he thought he knew him so well he was a huge mystery.

"I'd say limbless pointy-ear, maybe I should have left you to your play with the wargs."

Arod sniffed at the dwarf, making him flinch away and then he lay testily a hand on the horse's neck. The horse seemed to welcome the gesture and turned his head to him. "See, he is no beast," Legolas said once he had finished dressing. "He is as intelligent as you and I."

"You mean he is as intelligent as _you_, and the rest of you elven-people," Gimli said with a smirk. "That explains a lot of things of these ... all right, _horses_. Still I cannot understand the reason why elves are seen as wisest. You have the mind of a fly."

In answer, he got a light slap over the head. He had removed his helmet due to the injury, and his hair and beard was like copper in the sharp sun. Legolas' smile betrayed of any seriousness "Watch your words I say again, master dwarf, or I might ask Mithrandir to turn you into something in the like." Gimli scowled and muttered something about damned elves, as he usual did, threeatining to fetch his axe before that happened.

Laughter floated over to them. Aragorn was coming towards them, leading his horse Hausfeld at his side, and a grin broke his otherwise serious and frowned face. "What are you two up time now, friends?" he asked, looking from them to Arod, almost lihe trying to share a private joke with the horse. "You look like someone has fallen off his horse."

At the remark Legolas gave the man a look, cocking his head slightly to the side as if trying to recall something. "Ai, now I recall something funny here..." As if on clue, Aragorn paled, at an instant regretting he had choen to say 'fallen off his horse'.

Gimli seemed interested at once; he knew not much of Legolas' and Aragorn's history together, thought Legolas had sometime mentioned he had known the man all since he was but a toddler. "Well you see, it was this young man, three elves and a horse -" Legolas began and saw to his delight a blush spread over the ranger's features. He knew he'd pay back later for this but it was at least lightening the mood and taking his mind of other things. " - after an evening with feasting and drinking..." Gimli chuckled, he could see the outcome already. "And there was this lady which the man wanted to court, ah yes, a sweet little thi-mphfh!" Aragorn was red now and held his hand over Legolas' mouth and the elf tried to hold his laughter. But the ranger did not let go, and even though he was embarrassed now himself staring to remember that evening in a little too much detail he was smiling himself, trying to hold this back. He managed to make a grave face and said in a low dangerous tone, "Yo will pay for this, Legolas Greenleaf."

Legolas grabbed his arm and bent free, breaking out in a merry laughter. "All right, all right, I give up!" he said holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. This was obviously an old argument, Gimli mused. After more bantering, when Aragorn left, leaving Hausfeld in the elf's and dwarf's care, Legolas turned to Gimli with twinkling eyes. He lowered his voice it went unheard even by the ranger's sharp ears. "That meant I can always tell the story another time," he suggested with a smirk, quite unfitting for his beautiful face. Gimli just laughed.

-----

They rode later, the King and Gandalf in tow. After reaching their home, the King had decided to ride with some of his men and Gandalf of course to Isengard, to see what Gandalf's cryptic words had meant. The route to Edoras was the same as they had used to the Keep, thought it went now well without any fights, incidents or wargs. Yet the trip took hours. Aragorn managed to stay close to Legolas and Gimli, who were riding Arod together, all the time, and they had a strong feeling that it had to do with the story the elf had tried to tell earlier. Once Legolas tested this, he smirked and looked to Gimli over to Aragorn with twinkling eyes, and the warning look the ranger gave him made him keep silent. For time being. Actually it was quite relieving, this, he had not joked or laughed in a long time it felt. Even thought only half his heart was there, his thoughts did not stray to death or dark dreams or the worrying clouds in his mind, those which had grown all since he left Mirkwood.

Murmurs of relief spread through the Men and their families as Edoras came into view. The city, which only had been left with a few men to guard it from possible intruders, appeared to be fine and safe.

His back hurt slightly. When riding, he had again noted all these uncomfortable things, he had to shift in the saddle more often, he wished to stop...just stop and rest or stretch his legs. This was not how an elf should behave and he knew so. Legolas' thoughts had swirled and he knew, he knew so well that soon, very soon he had to tell. He had finally decided, that here in Edoras was the best place to do so.

'So you mean it is easier to flee from here once the truth has slipped past you lips?' the whispering voice accused. He pushed it away. _Not now. Not now._

Gimli's arms rested around his stomach again.

-----

After making sure his people were safe within Edoras, Théoden assembled fifteen of his men to follow him and Gandalf. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli followed as well; destpite to his wound the dwarf did not want to be left behind. So they rode, toward Fangorn forest and Isengard. They could ride around of course but it would much time, time they did not wish to waste. When they came under the shadow of trees, Gimli shivered. "It is so dark in here," he commented. "I cannot understand why you love this, Legolas. The air is hard to breathe, like this be a chamber not opened for a decade."

The elf was looking from one side to the other, taking in each tree and the moss growing upon the earth, the grass growing about newly grown plants. Their voices, they were there, humming in a soft tone. "And how about you, and caves then? Under the mountains your people dwell and you complain about darkness and thick air," Legolas answered. The dwarf puzzled him yet, there were sides of him he yet had to see and to know.

"There is not darkness, Legolas! There is light at my home, like the glistening lamps in Khazad-dûm once filled the great halls with shining stars," Gimli said and his tone changed to something dreamy, he was trying to describe the most wonderful dream but could only form a shadow of it by words. "I have seen a wonder, just a glimpse of it, that amazes me to no end. There are caves, Legolas, caves the men calls them, where to stuff people and creatures and food within when times are dire. But they are much more than that, with deep tunnels glinting in the torches' light. With diamonds and gems and gold hidden in the magnificent walls of stone like crystal stars spread out on the night's sky. And delicate veins of rich metal spread upon and within these walls, and the light reflects like upon the sharpest mirror. High pillars and colons are there rising high and turned into the most wonderful of forms, in pale and white and the rose of dawn." His voice was not Gimli's, it was rougher and deeper than any elf's but yet it now held the tone and gift of an elven tongue it seemed. A vivid living picture of these halls created in Legolas' mind, and it was such a sight that he had never seen before. He had never thought dwarves to be such poetic creatures, vivid, seeing beauty and making him see beauty where he could not see it himself. Gimli was either unique, or the dwarves must be wondrous creatures, indeed. It warmed his heart, created something, a longing, like the one he held for Fangorn yet not as strong. "There is silver cascading down the walls and onto the colorful walls, Legolas, turning into the darkness beyond the pillars' shadows; room after room, stair after stair, any dwarf could walk endless there, beholding this sight, one that Durin's soul barely could imagine. But just caves, caves they say! This wonder of the underground world of Helm's Deep, I wish I could have seen it just a little more, a glimpse, so as I wish to see the Lady Galadriel and her light again. My soul wept as I had to leave it behind." And then he quieted for a moment. Legolas was amazed.

"You truly touch my heart by your words, Gimli," he said honestly. "Never before I have heard you speaking so. I begin to wish that I too saw those caves." He looked over his shoulder at the dwarf, and he was unable to read his expression. He saw beauty now, he realized, the description leaving Gimli's lips had sneaked upon his face, and Legolas saw earth and mountains in the dwarf; there was a rough harshness, like a stone had stood upon a hill in wind and rain for too long, but there was beauty, unlike anything he had seen before. He was amazed of seeing such things, and realized he might be the only elf in the world thinking so, a dwarf beautiful. Oh, if only his adar had heard this, the words juts spoken! Mayhap it would have changed his opinion of the creatures...

"Let us make this bargain -- if we both return safe out of the perils that await us, we will journey together; you shall visit Fangorn with me, and then I will come with you to see Helm's Deep."

The dwarf's face shifted, from uncomfortable at the mention of Fangorn, but his face lifted when the elf said that he would follow him to the Glittering Caves. "Well, I think not Fangorn is the way I would choose upon returning," he said. "But I will endure it if you follow me to share the wonders of these caves. That is a sight I think not many elves has seen before. At least not with me, and there I will teach you to see from a dwarf's eyes."

Legolas smiled. "You have my promise, my friend; then, in return, I should maybe let you see these forests through new eyes."

"Like an elf, you mean? I must say the thought scare me slightly, more than any orc could ever have done." Hearing Legolas' ringing laughter he growled. "Elf, I _do_ have an axe for a use."

The tree line seemed to reach the end now, growing thinner. Legolas looked ahead, spotting smoke and fog beyond the dark green surroundings which he would rather stay in – it was yet so far away, he guessed there where miles left; it was only a shadow in the horizon. Riding forward to Gandalf's side, he asked, "How far is it to Isengard, Mithrandir?"

"Seven, eight miles the way the crows of Saruman flies, Gandalf answered. "But we shall not take the whole route today." And then he turned into his own brooding that he had done before, that kind only an old wizard can have and sit and resonate with himself for hours, and you do not wish to take a part of however, you wouldn't have understood anyway, not even an elf. Except perhaps Galadriel.

Gimli had began to learn those looks upon his comrades' faces: when they were tense or relaxed, concentrated, dozy or in deep thought. Most time in the company of Men he saw that Legolas' face remained so very elven – relaxed yet always on alert, his face was mostly emotionless thought his eyes betrayed that he was older than his body looked, much older, and there was many thoughts in this mind all time. But of course, he was a sleep-walking elf, and those were really strange creatures. He had found that he now spoke more to Legolas than the elf spoke with Aragorn, or anyone else; perhaps for their oddness in these lands, surrounded by men. Though Aragorn and Legolas could hold conversations in silent, a look said or asked or confirmed, a few words uttered between them was understood and held the meaning of long phrases. Earlier in the Quest this silent language had come in handy when hunting; now, mostly, it was just perplexing and Gimli ha started to try cracking the code of it. Trying quite well now as he never asked neither man or elf about it.

The tree-line thinned and they came out of the forest. Legolas gave a small sigh, he wanted to go back, hear and see the trees, let them comfort him...just for a while. There was a peace, deeper than the one in Mirkwood or even Lothlórien. A peace that would have been more capturing had it not been for the vibrating air, it had grown so thick because of anger and hatred. 'If just the war had been over...' He held Arod and started to turn back with longing on his face, and Gimli spoke up.

"Hold, mad elf! Let me down from this beast before you go in there again!"

Legolas' senses suddenly peaked, something in the forest moved. Then he looked into the trees ignoring everything and everyone else and saw something he had never seen before. "Eyes!" he cried. "There are strange eyes among the leaves. Such eyes I have never seen before." They were deep, with the colour of autumn leaves, no, of hundred colours, like the trees and the moss and every living thing on Arda. Age and wisdom lay laced in those large strange eyes, something older than any elf or creature, deep and old like the World itself.

Gimli seemed to panic behind him, and he heard Gandalf's voice speak loudly , among with murmurs among the men. "Hold Legolas Greenleaf! Do not ride back to the forest, not yet, for your time has not come!"

The earth under the horses' feet shook slightly, and there was low humming sounds deep as mountains and the halls of Moria, and out from the trees emerged three majestic beings, tall as trolls, twelve foot or more in height. They were tall as the trees, no, they were a part of them, like large people had been twisted and created like a walking tree, with crowns of leaves upon their heads and growing at their bodies. Legolas' eyes widened at the sight, he knew what these were, every elf of his homeland sung of these creatures and he had known of them and been fascinated since he was but a mere toddler. The three large Ents passed by the company without even glancing at them, though the men cried in surprise and reached for their swords. Legolas sat there watching in silence, and some strange magic and old presence touched his elven mind for a moment, before it was gone with the creatures. Their step was firm but their movements slow, as they knew they had time left and no need to hurry.

"Here no weapons are needed," Gandalf said and they stilled, still staring wide-eyed at the three large tree-like creatures as they disappeared yet again in the forest. "These are just herdsmen."

"Herdsmen!" Théoden said, sounding astonished. "But where are then the herds? And what race are they, Gandalf? Some way it is very clear they are no strangers to you."

Gandalf chuckled slightly, as if he had expected such a reaction. "These are the trees' herdsmen. Is is really so long time since you listened to the old tales by the hearth? There are children in you land as in many others that could pick up the threads of old fables and myths to solve your question." And he spoke of Ents and the men were silent as their king in overwhelming, were the Ents not just stories told by old wives to lull children to sleep? But no, it was not, there were Ents, older powers than they had imagined, and they were fading as well as the rest of the world, tainted by the evil spreading from Mordor – though slowly, very slowly, as things were in Fangorn Forest in the Elder days.

"Well, lucky it were no orcs or something else of Saruman's devilry," Gimli commented to Legolas while they were moving again. The elf was just half-willing getting involved in a conversation, now and then looking back at the old Forest, with longing in his eyes, all until they reached many high hills. The sun was sinking in the horizon now, and when looking back west from where they had come, the sky was dark and red like blood and silhouetted against the clouds were dark black-winged birds. Hoarse sad cries from the birds reached their ears. The many animals came closer, some of them diving at the riding party before flying back to their nests in the cliffs.

"The crows has been busy at the battlefield," Éomer, who rode between the King and Aragorn, said with sadness evident in his voice. Legolas recognized that sadness, it was the same as he had felt once not so very long ago, in Mirkwood. But then no birds had infested the woods and eaten upon dead bodies – it were spiders then. A feast for such beasts. He shuddered at the memory, the battle were he had almost lost his father, and his lover...

A voice snapped in his head. 'You told yourself not to think of it!' it blamed. He listened; for once managing to push such thoughts away. The voice did not say a word more after that.

When they stopped, dark was the night. They made camp at the edge of Isen River and the men were angry of finding the river emptied as if someone had dried all the water. A fog and smoke rose around them, the landscape and the plains and the forest laid behind, everything, wrapped in a sheet. And in the distance Legolas saw a great tower, a hovering shadow – Orthanc. Isengard was near now. Very near...

_------_

_**Author's note:** Soon they must find out, mustn't they? Next time, they meet Treebeard, Saruman, and two little fellows... Guess which ones! I got something in mind, some plan you see... I am evil, tell ya. And I know that the last part of this chapter became quite impersonal, we don't see much of Legolas or what he thinks, but I tried to get on with the story in some other way..._

_**Elvish:**_

_Amarth malch – Cruel fate_

_**Thanks all reviewers :)**_

_glostarz: Hannon le, hannon le! And well, for their reaction, I'm not quite sure yet what their reaction would be. But I'm pretty sure they'll be kind of ... overwhelmed. Surprised at the very least._

_mikinyet: So typical wizards, but at least they are never late, nor are they early. They arrives precisely when they means to. [Okay, okay, so I **promised **to stop quoting the movie! Couldn't help it!] Glad you like this; when I read this after writing, it looks kind of unfinished, like there is something... But I don't know. Maybe it's just me. And I'm sure Gimli is going to **kill him**!_

_Shanya-hp: It'll slip, it'll slip... just wait and see, I got something in store for them when they finds out... Next chapter must be it! And thanks, happy you liked the battle-scene much. _


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's note: **Sorry about the late update. In return I'll give you a quite long one... I apologize again for borrowing so much from the book! I just did not know how to do (some of) these scenes! And thanks all reviewers and readers, I appreciate you a lot :D_

_**Chapter warning**: Includes: Gimli, a challenge, the man in the bar, and a barrel (or, many barrels) of ale. You see the outcome yourself, don't you, eh?_

**-----**

**Chapter 12**

**-----**

Isengard was so changed it was almost unrecognizable, and had it not been for the large black tower in the ruins middle one would have thought this the remains of a battlefield. Well, it actually _were_ the remains of a battlefield – here the Ents had finally thrown back at Saruman with all their powers they possessed, their strength and anger. The walls surrounding the area was broken, and the gate crumbled into a hundred of pieces. And the low valley was filled with water, dirty and deep so that even a tall elf could have been able to walk through it. The water blurred and swirled still at some places as trying to fill some destroyed emptiness. Various items, shields, spears, all kind of tools and also leaves and limbs from trees, floated upon the surface. Broken wood was spread wide and far. Smoke and fog rose at some places, as if the water was boiling of evil and secrets. Something truly powerful had happened here.

At the outskirts of this chaos, sitting upon the edge of a wall, were two small figures. One sat while one lay in the morning sun, smoking in delight from a long pipe. The both of them seemed very content, and next to them were empty baskets and loads. When upon seeing the arriving party, one of them stood and recognizing hit Legolas like a spear.

"Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!" the creature said and pointed behind him at the tower. "My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck and this," he said nudging his napping friend with a foot, "is Peregrin of the house Took. We are now the gate-guards of Isengard, see, since mister Saruman is home but locked behind doors with some fellow Mister Wormtongue. Had he not he would surely welcome these honored guests personally."

'Thank Eru, they are well!' Legolas thought. He had not thought much of these two, he knew, since Gandalf had told when first meeting him in Fangorn forest that they were safe. But to find them here, at the edge of a battlefield, was indeed something unexpected. The Men behind looked upon the hobbits in wonder. Such a sight they had never seen before.

Pippin began to wake, and seeing the party arrived he at once stood and opened his mouth to welcome them in similar manner to Merry, but said hobbit nudged him in the side.

"That I do not doubt," Gandalf said with a laugh. "Perhaps it was also Saruman who gave you the orders to guard his broken gates, or at least have a look now and then when food and drink did not steal your full attention?"

Legolas could not hold back a smile. These were hobbits. He had remembered them right.

"No, that thing he missed," Merry said seriously. "You see, he has been very busy as of late, and we have orders from Treebeard, who has now taken over the rule of Isengard. He told me to greet the arriving King of Rohan with fitting words. So I have done my best."

Legolas felt the dwarf behind him shift and his gruff voice almost exploded, torn between happiness and anger to decide if he should blame to hobbits or laugh with them. The elf's smile grew hearing the dwarf speak, or something between speaking and shouting. "And what to your friends then?" Gimli burst out but with laughter in his throat. "What of Legolas and me? You wool-headed, wool-footed drifters! It was just a nice journey you took us, over hill and plain, through forest and war, just to save your heads – and now we find you eating, and smoking!" Gimli stressed the last statement and looked most displeased. The two hobbits just grinned, which resulted many to laugh at the dwarf's expression, though it quickly changed and he chuckled as well.

Théoden and Gandalf went to the far side of the valley to find Treebeard, and the men followed. But the reunited friends stayed behind. The horses, Arod and Hausfeld, were let go to search for grass and water, to run free for a while.

"See now! The hunt is over, and we now meet again in a place no one of us had wanted to come," Aragorn said as he sat down next to the halflings, grinning broadly.

Legolas eyed the hobbits, they appeared strangely changed and not at all in the condition that they should have been after being captured by orcs. They also were – if possible – slightly taller. This was odd. "And when we finally are here perhaps the hunters can find some answers we seek?" he said. "We tracked you to the Forest, but there are still some things I would like to know of you two."

"And there is a lot_ we_ would like to hear about_ you_," Pippin said, for a moment taking his newly lit pipe from his mouth.

"Treebeard told us some things, the old Ent, but nowhere near everything," Merry continued for his cousin, before he, too, started to smoke. Obviously they were not to tell anything until they had heard all of the story.

"Everything in their time," Aragorn said. "We were the hunters, so it is you who shall tell us first."

Gimli laughed. "First or last, I'd like to have some solid food first, and a good smoke is it available, before we start any story telling. I have a wound in my head and it is over lunchtime." Both hobbits lightened up at the mention of food; no matter they had already just eaten, it took a very great meal indeed to make a hobbit eat until he could eat no more.

Merry pointed up somewhere behind the friends. "Would you like it here, or more luxury served over there is Saruman's old guard tower? We had to eat it here as we had to keep an eye upon the road at the same time."

"Less then an eye," the dwarf commented causing a smile to flash on Legolas' face. "No, I am not putting my foot in that cursed orc-nest – as I am less to eat the orc-food or something else they have handled."

"We should not serve you such things either," Pippin promised. "Saruman had some of the Big Folk to guard the gate, some of his most loyal servants I think. Any way they were very favored and had also good entertainment, and food and drink."

"And pipe tobacco," Gimli added. Both he and Aragorn looked thoughtful at this, and Legolas wondered why. Himself he did not care or like tobacco at all and knew not why other folk always had to persist to use it.

The hobbits led man, elf and dwarf from the broken gate, up a stair to an old ruined hall. It was cut out from the cliff, and once had been very dark, but now sun filtered through the broken roof. In the center a small fire was lit, dying slowly as the sun rose higher outside. There was a table in the corner and a set of chairs, probably for the guards' use, and on the wall hung weapons and tools, many broken also laid on the floor. They had been pushed into the corner.

After a 'menu call' by the hobbits, the Three Hunters because busied with their meals, and Merry and Pippin joined them to dine for a second time unabashed. Legolas ate carefully, again thoughts starting to grow in the back of his mind, about troubling things...things that did not belong here. 'And what now?' he thought. 'Should I tell them yet, also the halflings? Perhaps it is not such a good idea.' Long minutes passed in silence, they sat in their own thoughts eating and drinking. After that, hobbits, man and dwarf insisted upon smoking. Legolas stood. "I shall go outside and see how the sun fairs," he said. His friends followed him outside, where the air was fresh and slight chilled like a morning breeze.

Legolas laid down upon a large flat rock; staring up at the sky and the sharp sun without being blinded by the light or blink once. There was summer in the air now, and it reminded him of Mirkwood and walking in the garden he had grown there himself. Of... 'Not now,' he thought sharply.

The smoking ones sat down. They were quiet then for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. It was one between friends and they simply enjoyed being back with each other. Or at least the others did not seem uncomfortable, Legolas thought as he glanced at them. The hobbits had stretched out in the sunlight, and the ranger's eyes were closed as if was resting sitting down, and all three and the dwarf were wrapped in smoke. Strange ways these folk had – they feared darkness, and fires and smoke of Mordor and Isengard, or had at least, and what do they do? Smoke. That was something he could not understand. It could not be healthy, that. He remembered the first time he saw someone smoke. He was an elfling then, when Mithrandir had come to visit. Later in the Great Hall he sat by a window, and from the pipe in his mouth rose rings of smoke. What had really interested him what that they changed form and colour, some wizard trick, and for a young mind such things were of greatest curiosity. When he asked how it was done, he had just gotten a chuckle and a wink, obviously he had to find out himself. He smiled fondly at the memory, suddenly remembering his father's reaction when he asked him if he could try it, to make smoke from a pipe. Such a ridiculous thing. Yes, that was what his _adar _thought of smoking, and other unnecessary (as he called it) things that wizards were up to. Ridiculous.

Then he shook his head; he had been lost in mind for a time, the sun had moved on the sky. He sat up popped up on his elbows and looked over to his comrades. "Now, come on and start telling," he said, softly so not to give them a startle. "Time is running on, and the fog is blowing away – or it would have if you, curious figures, had not surrounded yourself with smoke. How is it with the tale, is it already forgotten?"

The hobbits had not forgotten it. They shared the events that had passed, only excluding terrible things with the orcs like the whips and the stench and the hairy arms. Legolas was surprise when Aragorn said they had only been captured in nine days. It was not long, not long at all, yet it had felt like ages sometimes. But when he thought about it, it made sense. They had been hunting them down for three days, then it took one more to reach Edoras. Five days later, they won the battle of Helm's Deep and rode here. Yes, it was right. Yet time had not felt like that. It had a strange effect.

The halflings gave their account of meeting Treebeard and the Ents' attack on Isengard, but when trying to describe the Ents and their nature, their words died in mumbles. "It is their eyes that are really fascinating," Merry said, and Legolas thought back when he had seen those eyes – they had been so deep and secret, containing all colors you could ever think of, and large they were, large and strange. Merry said about the same thing as he thought, but could not explain.

Then the Three Hunters gave the hobbits their version of events, as thanks for the tale, the food, and, in the dwarf's and man's case, the pipe-weed. The halflings seemed genuinely interested by the tales but Legolas was not; he listened and spoke only with only half a heart. His mind was elsewhere, upon matters that he thought he had pushed away...but had failed to.

_When will you tell? And how?_

_Should you explain?_

_Try to?_

_Flee?_

_You are already fleeing._

_Coward._

Time passed by, and not before long they stood and left to find Gandalf and Aragorn. They had to walk mostly around the area of Isengard to reach the other side, because of the deep, dirty water, though soon they could walk there again; the water was sipping away, thought deep holes made by Saruman for some evil purposes. On the way, they found Arod and Hausfeld. Now they had a closer look at Isengard, and it was not any fair sight. Legolas did not wish to see more of this ruined place. Yet the high black cliff Orthanc stood still a threat against the chaos by its foot.

Legolas could spot riders trying to find a way through it towards the tower. "There are Mithrandir, and Théoden with his men," he said. "Let us go and meet them."

"Watch your steps carefully," Merry warned as they followed what remained of the road from the Gates to Orthanc. "There are loose rocks here that may tilt and throw you into some gruesome hollows, if you are unfortunate."

They moved slowly upon and between broken rocks that were slippery of mud. The riders saw the approaching group and held their horses to wait for them. The dark tower cast long shadows over them. It was Gandalf who rode to meet them, telling them he had spoken with Treebeard, made some plans but those he did not reveal yet. "And we have also taken a well-granted rest. Now we must start again. I hope you, my friends, have found rest and refreshments?" the wizard asked.

"We have," Pippin said. "It both started and ended with smoking."

"We feel already lesser hostile toward Saruman than before," Merry said, knocking at the pipe he had brought with him.

"Really?" Gandalf said. "But so it is not with me. I have one last mission before we leaves – I shall pay Saruman a goodbye-visit. It might be useless and is dangerous, but has to be done. Those who wish may come, but I warn you – have care! And do not joke, the opportunity is hardly right."

Legolas frowned slightly. He knew not much of Saruman more than had been told him. He had heard of his wisdom, and his dangerous but useful skill of manipulation made by voice, but not much else. He was curios, as every elf is by nature, he had to admit. "I will come," he said softly.

"As will I," Gimli said. He would not leave Legolas from sight now, and this was no exception. "I would like to have a look at the rascal and see if he really looks like you."

At this statement Gandalf raised an eyebrow. Had the wizard been an elf, Gimli would have scowled at the action. "How would you know, master dwarf?" he wondered. "He could take any form he would wish in your eyes, to fool you. You are not yet bright enough to see through his tricks. But well, we shall see," he said. "He is probably afraid of showing himself for so many different eyes. But I have given every Ent the order to stay away from his sight, so it is thinkable to convince him to come down."

"But where is the danger?" Pippin asked suddenly. "Would he shoot at us, fire through the windows maybe? Or spell us from a distance?"

The last one was more probable, of course. Legolas suddenly feared what the old wizard who sat locked up in his tower could do if the two halflings, who were yet light at heart and so young, came close to the tower and heard him. But he voiced not his fears. The two halflings came to follow them, along with Aragorn and Théoden King. The warnings they had from Gandalf were few but serious. He, Aragorn and the King walked up to Orthanc, while the others were bade to stay by the tower's foot – they would see and hear enough, and at that distance, the dangers were not as great.

An uneasiness spread among the gathered below as Gandalf called and knocked loudly upon the wizard's door. But the voice that finally answered, through a window opened slightly, was not Saruman's.

"I know that poisonous voice," Théoden said darkly.

"Go and find Saruman, since you now has become his servant. Hurry and spill not our time, Gríma Wormtongue!" Gandalf said.

The window quickly closed and they waited again. Waited, but then the window opened as much again and a voice spoke. A different voice. It was deep and melodic, by itself a spell....And it held them, and many who heard this voice could not remember what it had said afterwards: just that it had been a pleasure to hear it speak and could listen to it to day's end.

Legolas felt shivers by it, but not by pleasure. The voice...ill and false like a snake. It changed his comrades, he felt how their mood shifted. But while they became slowly captured, even by simple soft words, he tried to fight. He felt ... fear, and anger, and old memories... It was almost like Saruman tried to reach him, lure out secrets to use against him... He tensed, as he felt something tug at his mind: the way only a Firstborn being can feel someone else's presence. Saruman... The voice murmured in his mind, tangled his thoughts, dimmed his sight. 'Stop it!' his mind screamed. 'Stop!'

The world silenced, but only for a moment. "Well?" the voice said sadly. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you not leave me alone neither day or night?" The tone came as from a friendly and god heart sunk into sadness because of undeserved insults.

They lifted their eyes in surprise, because no one had heard him when he had come. Now the wizard stood above them upon a balcony, leaning against the edge and looking at them with deep wise eyes. Legolas heard Gimli murmur at his side, a warm voice against Saruman's in his ears.

"Alike – and yet not..."

The voice continued, leaving those false lips, and each word felt like a curse. Legolas felt immobile, captured against his will. He did not wish to listen. He knew not even why had come to listen anymore. Saruman looked into each one's heart, only Gandalf seemed unaffected by it. Legolas struggled to remain composed, closed, not to let Saruman reach whatever goal he had. The old wizard saw their visions and dreams, in a way like and unlike the ways of Lady Galadriel... His voice was silken now, still clenching to sadness and grief, something that made disgust rise like bile in Legolas' throat.

Then the words died away, and silence fell heavy. Emotion was strong among the riders behind them and the comrades standing by Orthanc's foot. Bewitched they were, staring up at the wizard upon the balcony like they regarded something new... a light, some new hope... His words had been more polite than Gandalf's had ever been, and a shadow cast over their hearts, in the silence. Legolas tried to break free, to move, when the wizard's gaze moved over the company and met his, the most brief of moments. Yet that moment grew a fear. Always he avoided looking Gandalf in the eyes, to keep his soul closed with his secrets to him. But now his soul lay bare and unlocked and Saruman glimpsed it, glimpsed it long enough ... to ...

_To know_. A voice started to murmur in his mind. It was raw and unwelcome like rock upon rock. 'This ... this is something I never expected,' the voice drawled. 'So deep secrets to torment such a young heart...' Legolas flinched and lowered his gaze, and the voice quieted, the connection broken.

It was Gimli who broke the eerie spell they had fallen into. "The wizard's words are up-side-down," he growled, and his raw voice was a sharp contrast to the silky voice of Saruman. He gripped his axe in a tight grip. "In the language of Orthanc help becomes doom, saving means murder and death – there is a thing to be sure of. But we haven't come to beg of anything!"

"Silence!" Saruman demanded and now his voice was no longer soft, it was unwelcome and hard, and the people below shivered by the single word. Then the voice silkened again. "I spoke not to you, son of Glóin..."

Legolas swallowed rapidly when he felt burning eyes upon him, even thought the words coming from Saruman's false tongue directed at Théoden. Eyes... They kept him frozen, but he refused to look at their owner. Fear grew like a pit in his stomach.

He knew. He knew. It was no longer a secret..._oh Eru... _Who knew what Saruman thought? Would he search every other's hearts to see if they knew, test them, use this little piece of information? Or would he... would he... _Would he be able to harm the child?_

Éomer's voice rose, defending his King, whom Saruman tried with all his might to deceive. Then Théoden spoke for the first time, his words first thick and strangled but by each passing word his voice lightened. Legolas could not register the words, not any meaning, just the heavy chaos of feelings that swirled around him. The eyes burning on his soul.

Whatever the words had been they angered the wizard, and his voice changed so much it became unmatchable with the smooth silk they had earlier heard. Several men wanted to cover their ears, to block out all that horrible sound, but found their limbs did not cooperate until Saruman's words grew into a hiss. He spoke of ill things, cursed, cursed, but Legolas was not sure of what...or why. It was then, then the wizard's words had stilled and he stood above them trembling in anger and gripping the rail so hard his knuckles turned white – then Gandalf looked up, speaking, and his voice was a welcoming contrast to Saruman's.

"What do you have to say, that you did not voice the last time we met?" he asked. "Or perhaps you wish to make some things unsaid?"

"Unsaid?" Saruman said, suddenly like he felt awkward. "Unsaid? Last time you came, you wanted advice, and I strained myself to give it to you but then you would not even listen. You ask for advice yet you always seem to have it in your own mind, at least I thought so until you were to hasty and proud and took my intentions as evil. That is a pity, I have to ill will against you, not even now when you come in the company of villains and idiots. We are both a part of the eldest and most powerful Order of Middle-Earth, are we not? Our friendship could have some use, and for this I beg you to forgive. We are kin, and understand each other. Would you counsel with me, friend? Would you not come up to me?"

A new wave of uneasiness and fear spread among the gathered below. Still those eyes...Parallel to all what had happened and had been said, from when Saruman first turned his gaze upon him, his fear had grown into something deeper, a panic, he wanted to flee. And now Mithrandir would leave, of course he would, he was a wizard, old and wise beyond comparison – Saruman were his kin. He would go up...their hope would be lost. He would betray them...!

But then Gandalf did something unexpected and it was clear as a horn signaling for battle. The spell broke, people began moving, stretching their arms and looking about, and gazing at the wizard in wonder. Gandalf laughed. "Saruman, Saruman!" he said and still he was laughing. "You have wronged your call in life. Saruman! You should have been a servant deserving both your bread and your punishment, by imitate your master's councilor. Oh, bless me!" He paused here to take a real breath between his laughter. "Understand each other?" he continued once he had regained his composition and his ability to speak. "No, I am afraid that lies over your abilities, Saruman. No, I do not think I will come up. Why then do you not come down? Think about it Saruman: do you not really wish to come down?"

A shadow passed over Saruman's face, his eyes darkened for a second and they saw his soul, rotten as it were and afraid to leave the hole had built himself to hide. That moment the contact, the burning gaze, broke. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come down? Does an unarmed man come down to speak with the robbers by his door?" he asked, his tone cold and shrill. "I hear you well enough were I stand. I am no fool, but I do not trust you, Gandalf. I know well that those tree-demons are luring somewhere, at you command."

"Betrayers distrust everyone," Gandalf said with a yawn, something that surprised the men even more. They had begun to grow restless of this, why not just cut off the wizard's head and be done with it? "But I can release you, if so you wish, from Orthanc, and you would be free."

"'Free'?" Saruman mocked. "So very good, and so much like Gandalf Gray and his whole being, så pitying and protectively friendly. But what do you mean with 'free'? There are terms, I assume?"

"The reason to move you can yourself see from your windows," Gandalf said. "I believe you may find out some more by yourself. Your servants are either scattered or dead, your neighbors has been made your enemies, your new master has you betrayed or at least tried to. When turning his eye on you, it will be the red eye of anger you will see. But when I say 'free', I mean 'free', free from all bonds; chains as well as commands, free to roam as you please and go where you want, even... Even to Mordor, Saruman, if you wish." His voice dropped slightly, and Legolas felt a shiver down his spine hearing the name of the Black Land. The mere name was blood-chilling to his ears. "But first you must give me the keys to Orthanc, and your staff. You shall have them again, one day later, if you deserve them."

The wizard above them paled, his face like ash. A cold, shrill laugh escaped from Saruman's lips, a terrible sound, and he was like mad with eyes glaring red, and his laugh grew into madness in his anger. "Later!" he cried. "Later! Will that be when you have the very keys of Barad Dûr in your hands, along with the staffs of the Five Wizards – and wearing a pair of boots many times larger than those you wear today?! A modest plan for the future, indeed! But none you require my help to accomplish. Oh no, I have other things to do. Leave and come back to counsel with me when you are sober! And leave this pack of rascals and halfling-rabbles that are on your heels!" With that he turned and moved away from the balcony, into shadow and out of sight. Legolas felt relieved, finally he was gone... and he had not mentioned, thought about, about...

To his horror, Mithrandir called the wizard back. And Saruman came back, and he was like mad, leaving over the rail, gripping his black staff in his hand, breathing harsh and ragged. "I asked you not to go yet, Saruman," Gandalf said strictly. "You have become a fool, Saruman. But stay then! But remember I warned you! You shall not easily escape again." Then he let his gray cloak fall and Saruman paled more, if possible, at the sight and stumbled slightly backwards. Gandalf spoke with a clear voice and the sound of wood splitting was heard. "Your staff is broken!" A part of it fell down from the balcony down to land in front of the group. Saruman crawled back into his tower trembling and ashen. That was the last they saw of him.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment. Even if no words had been spoken to or about him, he had been nervous. Saruman had seen pieces of his mind he had never shared with anyone before, anyone except Lady Galadriel. It hurt, in a strange way. So easily he had slipped under the gaze...

A black object was thrown from the tower, past the balcony where Saruman had stood, barely missing Gandalf's head by inches. The wizard did not react. The object hit a stair which broke like glass but the round globe, black like the gates of Barad Dûr, was still unharmed and clear like crystal. It was deep, a dark endless pit. Legolas followed it with his eyes, he could not leave it from sight.

It had the same depth and colour of Egil's eyes. Thinking that he teared his attention away.

"The damned murderer!" Éomer shouted.

"No," Gandalf said, seemingly oblivious. "It was not Saruman who throw it. It came from a much higher window. It would have been the good-bye-shot of Gríma Wormtongue, I believe – thought it was badly aimed."

"The aim was bad, perhaps because he could not decide whom he hated the most," Aragorn suggested to Gandalf. "You or Saruman."

Legolas knew what it was. A palantír. They were dangerous, his father had said, and concealed strange powers... Useful but dangerous if used faulty. He would have moved to pick it up, curios and yet fearing the object, but it was Pippin who did. Gandalf came to the hobbits side and took it from him; the hobbit's look of dismay was clear. Somehow the Seeing stone had linked to him, and a slow greed for it started to grow that moment. Gandalf's bare fingers for a short second touched the smooth surface of the stone.

_A large Eye, burning like the fires of Hell._

_Staring._

_A voice, dark, deep, like an endless pit..._

Legolas' eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath.

"Lad?" Gimli questioned softly. "You looked dizzy for a moment." He squinted at his friend. "You don't have a hidden wound or something, have you? You_ must be_ the worst elf I've met." Truth was, he was worried. He did not understand Legolas' reaction but it seemed bad, and must have something to do with that Stone ... What else? The elf's eyes had been fixed on the object since it came within sight... 'I do not like this', he thought. 'We should not keep that stone, we should hide it somewhere...or throw it...'

Legolas shook his head, not yet finding ability to speak. Gimli did not question his silence. _Yet..._

-----

Night had fallen now, but none were asleep or stood gazing at the stars breathing the fresh air tingled with cold outside. They all, men, women, children, had assembled in the Golden Hall to celebrate their victory at Helm's Deep. They stood silent as the King saluted for the dead, an eerie honoring silence, thinking about lost ones.

Legolas had drawn himself to a corner of the room, feeling that people were looking at him, not directly but from the corner of their eyes. They could never get used having an elf here, even after that he had fought with and for their people. He was yet a mystery, one great mystery that could not be solved, a strange creature. The people were regarding Gimli and the halflings in the same manner. Said dwarf was not far away he saw once people had cheered and started eating, drinking, talking, and singing. Not near Elven songs, the melodies felt strange in his ears, alien like their tongue; harsh and wild, fleeting like these lands. He stood there in the corner and waited for Gimli to come here. The dwarf always sought him out after some time, if they had not seen each other or spoken in sometimes mere minutes. The dwarf had a protecting nature, though Gimli would never admit such a thing. Protecting and stubborn.

Eyes, again... Regarding him. None spoke to him, and he saw neither Gandalf or Aragorn. Not a face that he recognized; even Gimli had disappeared from sight now. He had seen the lady Éowyn and her brother, Éomer, for a moment though, but thought not much of them, he knew them not. 'I should not be here,' he thought. 'I do not belong here at all.'

He had never really liked festivities, but had he been among his own people he would at least felt more relaxed and comfortable – in Mirkwood and other elven realms as well there were manners he could and customs he knew of, he knew how to act and what to say. Rohan was so different from Mirkwood. Now he just felt in the way.

Gimli made his way over two him as the group of people parted slightly, with one cup in each hand. Legolas accepted the offered drink; it was ale. He sipped only at it, he was more accustomed to wine and also could not drink much now with his child to think of. His child... 'Soon,' he decided. 'I will tell them soon.'

Just when was soon then? That he was uneasy to decide...

The air in the room began to feel stuffed. People laughed about them and cheered, and the sound of steps upon wood reached his ears. There, upon a table, danced Merry and Pippin. Their voices rose in song. At least _they_ were comfortable, happy and free; merry as their people should be. He spotted also Aragorn and Mithrandir not far away, both grinning at the hobbits' antics and clapping hands in tact with the song. He could only snap up words and single phrases from it. Something from the Shire. Something with a green dragon, but he doubted it had anything to do with a real dragon. And they also repeated the word 'ale' and the like several times, before they finished their song and dance receiving applauds and voices calling "Again, again!" But the words and melody were blurred to his ears. He stared down at the cup in his hand, still almost full. He found no taste for this drink.

'They are a strange folk,' he thought and the two little creatures again began. It seemed to cheer up the crowd a lot. Legolas could not smile, there were too many thoughts on his mind; he could just remain looking utterly emotionless.

"You don't look one much for festivities," Gimli commended with a glance on him and took a wide swing of his ale. Legolas looked so very elven – he did not speak, yet he was at attention of many and he listened and watched, a part of the party, and he rarely smiled yet seemed happy. Gimli shook his head – just when he had opened up the elf, he had started to turn blank and emotionless again. Putting himself between walls. Maybe this was a bad sign. Or he simply did not like festivities. "Cheer my friend! We made this battle alive and whole, ready for another adventure, depending on what out ranger wants to do or the hobbits drag us into. Anyway, you still has to keep that promise of yours."

"And you," Legolas said, managing a small smile, "I hope you intend to keep yours? Once we reach Fangorn, Gimli, I can teach you see the forests' beauty and wisdom through elven eyes, as we spoke of before I recall."

"Wisdom, eh? You are a really odd creature and it gets worse every day, I'm afraid," Gimli said. "Talking to trees, I bet you have since you were a toddler."

His words widened Legolas' smile, the dwarf knew not how true his words were, at least about the trees. It was a really long time since he had been so young... His memories from where he was a child were few, vague most of them. It was not often he thought of them either.

A man stepped forward suddenly and spoke to the dwarf. Said something of a challenge. Legolas knew what they meant. A drinking game – he had never been allowed by his father to take a part of such things, but Aragorn had once introduced him to the idea and it was appealing concept. Why would one want to get as drunk as possible? But the dwarf could not refuse, of course not – he was a dwarf, a people known for their strength and stamina. A little of alcohol wouldn't hurt... 'Alas, strange are the Mortals,' he thought as he watched the game start. Ah, but maybe he could fetch a fun good memory of this. Something to embarrass the dwarf with (if he lost) some other day... That way he could maybe get even with Aragorn, who had not yet forgiven him for almost telling Gimli of his first fling and try of courtesy.

**

"A drinking game, 'Ro," challenged the young man.

The dark-haired elf raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that _drinking _is the way to win that nice girl over there?" he asked, looking over and nodding at a group of females across the room. The elves wore long dresses in the richest colours and their voices raised in laughter or talk were like bells; or at least so Estel thought, but he had only eyes for one of them. Elrohir ginned. "Y'know, the one with raven hair, yes, she, and look she's smiling!" he nudged his foster-brother in the ribs. "I think she is smiling at you, Estel. I know that look when I see one."

Legolas laughed seeing the blush spreading over the young man's face. "Oh so you admit that it is she you have been daydreaming of for the last few months," he said with a chuckle. "You are not shy, are you?" he teased. "Go on you two with this game of yours. She is looking at you, you know!" To his delight Estel blushed more. The raven-haired girl, a young elf not even an adult yet, giggled and whispered something to her own group of friends.

Just then Elladan came by, a glass of wine in his hand. "What are you speaking of, brothers? I could not miss what you just said. So who is the lucky one then, little brother?" he asked. Elrohir smirked and nodded over across the room, before patting Estel's back. "Come on, you said a drinking game. Let's find some good wine..."

The girl watched, intensely judging the group of elves and the man, and could not contain. Legolas laughed, and must have been quite a lot judging by the stares he was getting by the twins. But Estel was to deep in drinking and watching **her** to even notice.

"Last one standing wins, brother," Elrohir said. Actually, he was quite jealous that it was Estel, and not him, that the girl was looking at. But, come to think of it, Estel was certainly someone to be attracted to as he were a Man; almost an exotic creature like Elves are to Men, so are Men to Elves. 'At least', he thought as an afterthought. 'She_ do _have taste.'

Elladan joined the two in their "silly game" as their father called it. He'd be furious, this was good wine after all. But it was for a good purpose! Legolas would have wanted to join them, but it was then Thranduil came. The Elven King had a strong dislike for Estel as well as any other race, but tried and managed at least to keep it _polite _when in the house of Lord Elrond. He called his son to him. Legolas gave his friends an apologetic smile. "I shall see you later," he said.

When he saw them again, half an hour later, they were on their way to leave the Halls of Fire. Elrohir was not with them, and he had a feeling he was not to join them any time soon. He followed them. Estel was stumbling slightly, trying to keep his face steady and his feet in a straight line. Legolas tried his best not to laugh. "In need of help, Estel?" he teased. "You seem slightly-"

"I am not drunk!" Estel said stubbornly even before Legolas had finished the sentence.

"Just a little intoxicated," Elladan supplied. His voice was steady but slightly blurred, and Legolas did not doubt why. "He out-drank Elrohir, see, he's somewhere in the Halls asleep," he murmured to Legolas. "I cannot believe it! He really cannot hold his liquor. Imagine his hangover tomorrow."

"I am not jealous," Legolas said with a laugh. Oh, poor Elrohir! He'd be teased endless about this. "Where are you heading, by the way?" He sensed people following and looking over his shoulder he saw the same group of mistresses as in the Halls of Fire following behind them. "We have quite a pretty crowd following us, and they look genuinely interested in whatever you have in mind."

"Oh, nowhere special," Elladan said with a wink, having something in mind. By his side Estel looked confident like he always did when he was sure he would do something no matter what. Legolas had a bad feeling about this... "Jus' to the stables..."

**

The two contestants, man and dwarf, began downing one large cup after another. The people around started calling loudly, cheered for them to continued. Some even started doing bets among each other, who would win – man or dwarf? 'Ai, this will not turn out good', he thought and shook his head seeing the game unfold. No matter who won, Gimli would certainly complain tomorrow... He'd not be happy at all, no.

But standing here right now seemed pointless, and he felt in the way, felt eyes upon him. Gimli appeared to have forgotten him, and the thick air in the room made him felt slightly dizzy. Putting down his half-full cup on a nearby table, he made himself loose from the crowd, moving steadily towards one of the doors of the Halls. Trying to avoid meeting someone he knew or getting engaged in conversation, ignoring the looks of curious men after him. 'Let them stare', he thought. 'That is what they do.'

When he stepped outside in the cold night he breathed a sigh of relief. It was quiet here, silent and still, and it freshened his mind, eased his heart some. It was quite dark now, the sun no longer visible. While the darkness did not bother him, the cold did. It tickled his skin everywhere it was exposed, at the neck, his hands. He was becoming more sensitive... He was unused to it; at Caradhras he had actually felt cold unlike elves should but it had not appealed him. Now even the slightest breeze could be uncomfortable. He regretted he had not brought his Lórien cloak: it was in his and Gimli's shared chambers, still lying neatly folded upon his bed. But he stood still for a while, gazing out over the mountains in the distance and the surrounding plains. Nothing familiar. Fangorn Forest was not within sight. He missed the forest, the deep voices and old presences of trees comforting his mind... A soft cold wind blew by lifting his hair and opening the collar of his shirt, making his skin grow goose bumps. Something of metal make glistened beneath the clothing around his neck, a jewel hanging upon a thin chain.

"Ai, curse this!" he breathed and rubbed his arms. Now he had to walk through the stocked hall go reach their chambers. But he were fetching the cloak so that he could be outside, than in the Golden Halls... Or maybe he should just go inside to the chambers and rest... Either way, he turned and walked back inside building. There, it was noisy and crowded, even worse than before. He heard laughter rise from a table and looked that way, and saw the man that had challenged Gimli sprawled out on a chair, a cup of ale in his hand dripping contents slowly onto his clothing. His dwarven friend sat on a table grinning like mad and downing cup after cup. He burped rather loudly, murmured something in dwarfish, before he looked up and saw Legolas.

"Ach, whatch tha' neew...new ligth in th'corna'," he blurred and drunk a little more, spilling half of the ale on his tunic. Then he chuckled, holding up his free hand. "All... all three...fou..four of 'em. .._kibilbund...b__und..bunahchushartur..._Ha, watch'ta funny lightnin'...in tha head..." Then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he fell down onto the table. The cup hit the floor with a soft thud and clink. Ale spilled on the ground but no one seemed to bother. Legolas had to roll his eyes. Should he let Gimli lay where he was, or maybe take him to their rooms? 'Alas, these damned dwarves,' the thought. The feast around him continued none-the-less.

No one questioned him when he approached or when he slid an arm under his friend. The dwarf was damned heavy! "I should get you out of the armor next time," Legolas muttered to himself. Half-carrying someone unconscious, who was of his double weight _and_ half his size, was a hard job. He half-dragged him through the hall and mass of people, through the corridor to their door. "Or next time I'll leave you right where you are," he said to his unresponsive friend as he dumped him on one of the beds in their room. His back wound had protested whole the procedure and hurt still. He hesitated a moment, before he went into the bathroom.

There was just one mirror there, a well-done handiwork of this people but the image was blurry, not sharp, and he could see the slight bends where the hammer ha worked on the piece. Ushering himself of upper garments, he turned around and looked over his shoulder at the mirror image.

It bled. Just enough so that he could see it. Damn it all, just what he needed. He glanced at his shirt, where he had lain it on the floor, and the back was visible. Small splatters of red were visible, a contrast to the silver-blue fabric. This was definitely not his day.

He washed himself as well it could be done, before he dressed again, hissing in pain as the fabric of his clothing seemed to cut into his wound. After making sure that his tunic fit well enough not to give away his wound or his condition, he grabbed his cloak and shut the door after himself.

Right now, he wanted to be alone.

----

_**Author's note: **I tried to write this chapter for days... Isn't really happy with it, could not fit in feelings so well, but well, you're waiting, and I can't get it any better. Hopefully next chapter will be much more entertaining!_

_**Elvish:**  
None used. I think. Tell me if you find one. I might add them without thinking, you know :)_

_**Dwarfish (Khûzdul):**  
kibilbund – silver-head (From the words 'kibil', silver, and 'bund', head. Has no "real meaning".)  
Bundushartur – Cloudyhead (One of the Mountains above Moria. And this is the real form of the word; Gimli was just rambling when he was drunk.)  
Bund – head_

_**Review answers:**_

_glostarz: yeah, I think so too... And we can't have our elf doubting his child all the time, can we? I think he's getting better, though we haven't come to the worst part yet. I mean for him. Next chapter he gotta tell them! Don't you think?_

_mikinyet: Yes. That's bad, at least for him right now. Bless me, I'm think this fic is turning into some cliché. Bah._

_Shayna-hp: It was fun to write! Maybe I should tell you that *whole* story someday... _

_Sarah H.: Tack tack :D Vi hoppas på det bästa ... Tänkt dig hur Aragorn och Gimli kommer att bete sig när de får reda på hans, inte så lilla, hemlighet... *They'll never stop fussing over him!*_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's note: **Here it is! I'd name this chapter 'The Revelation', but that is too obvious...Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! (it's not over yet)_

**-----**

**Chapter 13**

**----**

The breeze was soft and caressed his skin, but it was also cold and he shivered by its touch. He had stood here long enough now, maybe he should go back and rest – the feast was over now, the rest of Edoras were asleep – but he could not. Too many thoughts...Too many thoughts trailed through his mind, followed his steps. He had stopped pacing and just stood there.

A smile appeared on his face when he remembered the meeting of Treebeard the day before. The oldest of beings, those eyes knew things he did not, had seen things he had not... After confronting Saruman, they had gone to speak with the old Ent and Legolas had gotten his first sight of him. If any Ent was fascinating, it was him. He felt so small next to him, someone of no interest. But Treebeard had greeted him as a friend, and there had been delight in his eyes seeing an elf. And Treebeard had even granted his wish to travel and roam the Forest of Fangorn with Gimli. Well, that Gimli was a dwarf and axe-bearer had not been something that pleased him, but when hearing they were friends, strange ones yes, he had been glad to meet them again perhaps, and show them the forest and tell them old tales that had not been heard for many centuries. And Treebeard knew, in a way, of his condition just by looking at him. Had he not been a wood-elf, spoken to nature in a unique way since he was a child, then Treebeard might not have linked with his soul and felt it, nor would the trees have. But he were a wood-elf, and of such things he could not lie to nature. He could not deny it.

In a strange way, it was comforting.

He placed a hand on his abdomen. Over the last few weeks, he had grown...grown too much for his liking. He had not seen many pregnant elves but those he had seen were often so – so large! He could not imagine himself like that, round and clumsy, not able to do simple things like bending down and putting on his boots without a problem. Most of all, he would not be able to fight, to defend himself. And it made him so weak and vulnerable... In these ill times, in war, it frightened him. It was laying himself bare in front of an invisible enemy.

With a sigh he stared at the sky again. It was not so dark anymore, dawn would be approaching within the hour. But clouds hovered up from every direction, covering the stars and the moon from sight. No such comforts...

Soft steps reached his ears, somewhere behind him. A familliar presence tugging at the edge of his senses told him it was no danger, and he relaxed, slowly lowering his arm from his stomach. Aragorn. He could tell it without looking at the man, that familliar scent next to him. It was comforting as well. "The stars are veiled," the elf murmured softly.

Aragorn fixed his eyes in the horizon, but his thoughts lay not at the sky, but at his friend. Something was ... changed. He knew not what, but during the journey Legolas had changed, his demeanor, the way he moved perhaps, his tone when he spoke... He was avoiding his eyes at almost any cost; the only time he remembered looking into his friend's deep blue pools was in Helm's Deep, meeting him after his fall. And something had changed in them then as well. Something... something was wrong...

The horizon was burning. A slow, far-away glow that only elven eyes could see. Legolas saw. It was restless, something reaching out, a threat to Arda... to him, and the child he carried inside of him. "Something stirs in the east. A sleepless malice..." For the first time that night he looked at Aragorn's face and he saw a worry there matching his own. The man understood, and he feared, as well. Something was stealing the Dark One's attention, something... And it was drawing nearer. Legolas feared that soon it would settle here, upon them, where they were upon the plains, in this small city of Men.

"The eye of the enemy is moving."

Aragorn nodded gravely, return his attention to the horizon. He felt the air around his friend tense, but why would Legolas grow nervous now? Was it Sauron's ill will that really worried him? For a moment he paused, not used to having Legolas this ...strange ... around him, before he laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. The elf looked at him, glancing at the man's callused hand for the slightest of moments, but not saying anything. The hand did not move. Neither did Aragorn. The elf held his breath, he knew that Aragorn would question something now. He had that look in his eyes.

"You seem troubled, _mellon nîn_," Aragorn murmured. "Not like I have seen you before. Are you all right?" he paused for a moment but had no answer. Legolas did not look at him anymore, almost like ... afraid? Ashamed? He could not tell. "War and shadow hangs heavy upon my heart as well, my friend, but that does not make me blind."

"I am fine," Legolas bit out quickly but regretted it at once; every time he said that it was a lie that Aragorn could see right through. His voice snapped slightly, it was harsher than intended. Aragorn's eyes regarded him closely, the hand moved, and warm fingers touched the bare skin at his neck.

"You are cold, Legolas," Aragorn murmured, his voice slightly tighter. Oh, he had been so blind! Something was seriously wrong here. Elven never became cold, not even on the top of a snowy mountain would chill them. Or would it...? By all means, Legolas could be ill, poisoned, or worse. He could... He gripped Legolas' hands in both his. "What is going on Legolas? What are you keeping from me?"

"I said I am fine!" Legolas said and tried to get away from his grip. 'You told yourself so many times to tell them,' a voice whispered in his mind. 'You have your chance now... or are you the coward you appears to be?'

Aragorn's voice softened, but his face was traced with worry, deep worry of a friend and a brother. "Legolas, I wish to help."

Legolas ceased his struggling. It was hopeless anyway, he felt weak and wanted to give in, and suddenly felt like he would collapse and cry in Aragorn's arms. Maybe he would in his sobbing simply let the truth slip and but then he would be to absorbed to understand Aragorn's reaction... He opened his mouth to speak, say something, but never got past the first word. "I-"

Another presence, like a fire, fixed on this very spot. A wide burning Eye staring, staring down at... _Burning holes into his very soul, a deep voice speaking in a language so terrible it made his blood grow to ice._ His eyes grew wide in terror. "He is here!" he gasped.

When Aragorn's eyes met his, the ranger held them for a moment, before he leaped from the stone terrace, into the building and down a corridor. One thought, the same as Aragorn had had, flashed through his mind before he raced after his friend.

_The palantír!_

----

Pippin was screaming silently on the floor, the Seeing Stone burning in his hands, flames licking every visible area. The hobbit tried to get away, but could not – trapped through a magic link, a chain that held him prisoner. The door flew open the same moment as Gandalf awoke; Aragorn grabbed the stone in a panicked moment, and the Eye with all its powers focused on one thing that moment: the Heir of Elendil. He grew weak and fell, had Legolas not come in the last moment and caught him.

Fire flared up within him, a link between him, Aragorn and Sauron. Sauron saw him, and for a moment the new young Soul within him. Panic, panic, it burned for a moment before the link broke.

_'My child had just gotten the glimpse of a murderer.'_

Aragorn trembled but the Stone rolled from his grip and onto the wooden floor. Legolas was in shock as much as his friend, and worry and panic for his child grew. Merry and Gandalf were by Pippin, who lay still and pale on the floor, looking at the verge of tears. But Legolas felt immobile, and heard not what they said; not until a warm hand tugged at his arm. "Legolas? Are you all right?" Aragorn's voice was worried.

Legolas nodded, out of breath. "Yes... yes." He lifted his head and felt his heart clench by the look of deep, brotherly worry on his friend's face. "I..I will be all right..." He was still breathless, like he had run a hundred miles without rest. Still he felt the tingling of a dark, burning soul touching his. He took a deep breath, fluttering his eyes closed for a moment, to empty his memory of the foul feeling. When meeting a deep gray gaze he managed a small smile. "_Im maer, Estel,_" he murmured.

Aragorn seemed convinced for time being and did not comment, and instead moved to where the others were. Pippin had regained some colour in his face, and spoke now to Gandalf, thought his eyes were wide of terror and his breaths trembling.

"What did you see?"

"A tree," he whispered. His eyes shut for a moment, as if remembering something terrible. "It was a lone tree... on a courtyard of stone." He opened his eyes again. Legolas move to be next to Aragorn, having regained his senses again. "It was dead. The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith," Gandalf whispered, then suddenly he rose his voice slightly, remembering something of even greater importance. "What did you tell him? What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

Pippin swallowed rapidly and stared with wide eyes at the wizard. Legolas felt pity for the little hobbit, and sympathy. He looked into the young eyes and saw only truth.

He had not told Sauron anything. But it was only a matter of time before he found out...

-----

They found no sleep now. Gandalf went to find the King even at this early hour. Merry and Pippin drew to a corner of the chambers which they shared with the wizard and talked, the elder trying to comfort the younger. Legolas left for his and Gimli's room, trying to ignore that Aragorn followed him. The man called softly after him and he only fastened his steps.

"Legolas," the man began. "I-"

"I wish to be alone," Legolas said with a tight voice not even looking at him. A strong hand grabbed his wrist, stopping him, and warm fingers again touched chilled skin, and pressure between clothing pressed at his two wounds sending a tingle up his arm. He spun himself free from the grasp.

"Legolas! This is unlike you. Tell me what is wrong, please! I am worried about you. Legolas, wait!" Aragorn shouted when the elf stalked down the hall. Something was seriously wrong here.

"_Gwanno ereb nin_!" Legolas' words muffled but tingled with irritation as he disappeared from sight. Aragorn's heart hammered in his chest. Legolas had given more solitude in his life than one should feel good of... The elf was locking himself in and he knew it. Building walls and shells... Legolas had disappeared among shadows and answered not when he called his name.

----

He ran. He knew he acted weak and childish, not ready to face truth... But he ran, until he found the door he was looking for in the semi-dark corridor. His breath was ragged now. The room was dark, darker even when he closed and locked the door behind him. That had been close... very close... His knees gave in and he felt tears, something warm and wet threatening to spill from his eyes. _Unable to stop..._

"Is that you, lad?"

He drew a sharp breath, a hiss between clenched teeth, hearing the sleepy murmur from across the room somewhere. He could not answer, found no words or reasons.

"Laddie?"

Annoyance rose and mixed with his hurting. "Go back to sleep," he muttered strained, finally unlacing his tongue.

Gimli flinched and tried to sit up, resulting a sharp pain build up in his head. "What is wrong with ye, laddie?" The elf's tone was one he was not used to, and it was filled with tire, as well as pain, and anger, irritation. "Tell me."

"Do not meddle in affairs that aren't yours." Legolas' voice raised now, slightly. "I will leave."

"Wait – what is wrong now?" Gimli groaned, still having a pounding head. The elf's voice seemed so bloody loud! "What have I missed?"

The words were simple and not meant to give anger or pain, it was just questions he could not answer, he had not the heart or strength to. Strength...Something he obviously lacked. Cursing himself for the stupidity at coming here, he moved to his feet. Across the room a light began to build – the dwarf was lighting up some candles on the night-table.

"Nothing you need to care of," he said, began searching the room for his weapons. Why he did not know. To be ready. To flee, again. To...

_Coward._

Gimli shifted, rubbing his sore aching temples. "Calm down laddie!" he said. "I-"

He could not control himself more. He broke, again, like he had in Helm's Deep. That had been a time of grief. Now was the time of anger. It welled like a river from him. "I said it was nothing!"

On the bed, Gimli visibly winced; now, Legolas' voice sounded like thunder in his ears. "Lower your damned voice! I got a headache bad as it is!" The elf did not even look at him; he found his weapons, started strapping them to his belt. The dwarf's eyes widened. "What do you think you are-"

Legolas' eyes did not seem like his own, and the burning expression on his face was unlike anything he had seen before. "I told you not to meddle in this! You are not any kind of guard over me!" He was not drawing weapon, but near to. He did not even know what he said or did, or why. It did not matter anymore. Simply did not matter. Let them stare, let them disgust and distrust, let them hate you. "You are nothing, nothing, _nothing_!" He seemed mad, like Saruman had been in Orthanc – and he was mad, he was mad at himself and these people and his father and at everyone else in this damned world.

Gimli's face darkened with his voice. "Take that back." He stood and folded his arms across his chest. "Now." Those words coming from Legolas lips, they hurt. Just mere hours earlier they had been deep real friends; they had joked and laughed together. Was Legolas just throwing it away? Or was this another breakdown?

"No, you do not control over me, no matter what you think, you do! I don't care!" He had to do something, hit someone, kill... He grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a ceramic vase, and threw it with all force he could muster into the wall. It meant nothing. It was not enough.

The crash rang in his head, it hurt; Gimli waves his arms and was near roaring, he sprang forward and tried to grab Legolas' wrists to hold him. "Stop this madness, Legolas! Stop!"

Two loud knocks were heard. At the third the whole door banged loudly. Legolas moved out of Gimli' reach, still tense, and stilled there, in the corner. The bow he had held in his hand slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor with a thud. All energy, lost... But the anger bubbled, and he wanted to run and kill, anything, _do_ something...

It was Gimli who answered the door, unlocked and opened it. And the person who came into the room made Legolas' world freeze. No, no. _No._

---

On steady feet Aragorn hurried down the corridor, until he reached the door to Gimli's and Legolas' room. But something stopped him from opening. Voices, muffled, coming from within. He heard shouting, low voices mixed with high, and then the sound of glass or the like breaking, making him flinch. What was going on in there? He knocked once, twice, but there was no answer. The third time he almost kicked down the whole door, hinges and all. The voices lowered a bit, before one of them said in a gruff tone, "Who is it?"

"It is me, Gimli," Aragorn said.

The clinker of locks being opened were heard and the door opened for him. The room was dimly lit, but he saw with trained eyes clearly. Legolas stood in the corner. On the floor next to him lay thousands pieces of broken ceramic, the remains of some art maybe. The elf stood tense and silent, defeated awaiting doom. His face was dark and eyes shadowed. He met his two friends' stares without saying a word.

"Well?" Gimli said after a while. "Care to explain now?"

Explain... explain? Knew the dwarf what he was asking for? He had bled to keep this secret. Now, so easily sunk, broken, like always... What would he say? That he should be dead by now? Because he should have. If not for the child inside of him, depending only in him and him alone, he would have died the moment he saw Egil's bloodied body in a heap on the forest floor. He would have cried and screamed and died in his lover's arms, with him. He would be with him. But he was here... trapped. No where to go. No choices.

_Tell them,_ the voice urged._ Tell them._

_Tell..._

He couldn't... There were no words... What would they think? Did it matter now? Should he just say it and then take his life, so that he would not have to see any more anger, doubt, pain, frustration? His father would not care... No, he would just use him as a puppet anyway, and he would probably loose his home and heritage once Thranduil found out of his lover, his child, his conditio0n, his reasons for leaving so abruptly. His condition. Yes, that was the one large issue that held him, held him in an iron grip. He took a deep breath, but it was not enough to fill his lungs. His heart exploded, it felt like, while the world crumbled beneath him, he slipped and fell and he tried to regain balance – to reach out for something to hold onto.

_If they are your friends, they will accept you._

"I am with child."

There. He had said it. And the world had not crumbled – it was stopped being for a moment, and he waited, waited without breathing. Waiting, and there was a mixture of shock, disbelief, concern and – something he had never expected – happiness in his friends' faces. Eyes wide.

'I should not have told them,' he thought, when they did not speak for long moments. He was afraid, and disappointed. At least, if they were disgusted or angered – they could at least say it! Do something, scream! He did not care, just they did or _said something_.

It was the dwarf who spoke at first, and his words were whispered: full of disbelief and shock, surprise of hearing something so unexpected. "How is this possible?"

Legolas did not speak, found no words, nothing could cross his lips even if he tried. Those four words had taken all his power and will. Now he had none.

Aragorn did not speak either. His eyes held the same emotions as Gimli's, but then they lit up, and a slow smile grew on his lips; this was something he never could have imagined. But it was amazing! So much they had faced, things they had gone through, and in all this chaotic war and shadow, a new life – a child – was a glowing blessing in whatever form. That was what he knew, what he thought and what he had been taught: to love and appreciate life. Legolas gasped in surprise when the man pulled him into a strong embrace; it was the last reaction he expected. No disgust... just acceptance and even more...

The man's familiar embrace, the one of two dear friends and brothers, it comforted him. It was strange to think that such a simple act could give him strength as well as weakness at the same time. He relaxed slowly in Aragorn's arms and tears started to roll down his cheeks. Tears of pain... and joy.

He had let go. Let go. For a moment he did not have to think. For a moment, he did not have to do anything.

-----

_**Author' note:** Finally, they know! At least, some of them..._

_**Elvish:**_

_Mellon nîn – my friend_

_Im maer – I am well_

_Estel – Hope (Aragorn's name when he was fostered in Rivendell)_

_**Review answers:**_

_Nomad Princess: Thanks! I had some ideas for the drinking game, first I thought of bringing Legolas in it.. But changed my mind, as you can see. I think *everyone* will have some trouble with it at first (except maybe Gandalf, who's a wizard and has surely seen crazy things in his long, long life)... I mean, how often do you find your male friend pregnant..._

_glostarz: Here you got your answer... First I thought the scene would be a 'sit down and peacefully tell' sort of thing, but this got a lot more angstier. Easier to catch up Legolas' turmoil. And for the birthing... Shall I spoil it for you already? (I have planned some of it actually...)_

_mikinyet: Thank you :) I wasn't so sure if I'd have that scene at all, maybe as a one-sentence-mention, but am glad you liked it! Ooh, and headaches are bad. Especially bad. Hm, I wonder what the average dwarf weight is... and elf-weight for that matter. I mean, if Elves really were as light-footed as described in the book then they'd have nothing but a feather-skeleton and some skin added for good measure (which would be rather odd, don't you think)_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's notes: **Hey, it's me again. Sorry, late update, but I've been busy with Life That Is School for a while._

**----**

**Chapter 14**

Gimli moved slowly closer, pausing for a second, pondering the elf's words and the two locked in an embrace, before he sat down on the bed. These news... They were the most shocking thing he had heard.

Legolas was a male, for heaven's sake! A male, a warrior, a ... _Pregnant._ He was pregnant.

Ridiculous! The elf had to be joking. Such a thing was impossible if not the Valar were playing trick on them. Was that so, had Aulë come down and to have some fun impregnated a male elf? Truly?

That sounded even worse.

He shook his head. First the had believed the elf to be joking. Honestly, only an elf could come up with something to say such as 'I am with child' when in Legolas' situation. He guessed so at least. But Legolas' reaction now, it seemed real and not fake. And all this distress... He had not revealed everything at Helm's Deep. It made a strange sense – his breakdown, the time he happened upon the ill elf... Yes, it made sense. It was not more comfortable. Seeing Aragorn laying a gentle arm around Legolas and leading him to the bed to sit, he shifted and cleared his throat.

"So this is ... serious?" he asked.

Legolas pulled nervously at his tunic, hands near his lap. Actually, he used to do that many times now lately, as if trying to hide... Gimli had just never noticed it. The elf did not answer at first, bit his lip, embarrassed and relieved at the same time. He managed a small, "Yes", but that was all right now. Aragorn accepted it easily enough, but there would be fussing, concern afterwards... But Gimli, Gimli's reaction had been a mix of surprise, shock, and slight disgust. Legolas saw it in the dwarf's eyes for a second – a mistrust that he had not been given since... 'I should not have yelled at him,' he thought. 'Had I just kept my mouth shut...' No what-ifs would help him out of this.

A frown appeared on Gimli's face, sudden worry grew within him – for a time the weirdness of the situation was pushed away. Legolas sat quiet, stared down at the hands in his lap. What now? Questions. They always came. Now he had to answer. Aragorn put a hand on his back, stroking slow circles to comfort him.

"Will you let me have a look at you?" the ranger asked softly. His concern was shown only in his eyes. He had decided, he was ready to accept this – how could he not, how could he look down upon and deny a child's life? He could not. And Legolas... Legolas was like a brother, more than a brother in a way. "_Mellon nîn_?" He needed to know, Legolas had probably not told anyone – maybe Gandalf... but then, would the wizard not had mentioned it then? Hinted? He had not. Not the slightest. When Legolas did not look up, he shared a glance with the dwarf sitting opposite to them and then at the elf. "Please Legolas, I just want to make sure you are all right... as well as the child."

A slight tone of pink rose to the tip of his ears at the mention. "I am fine," he murmured, but Aragorn did not listen and started to take of his cloak and then his tunic. He found not the will to protest or even lift his head to stop him. Then he sat there, and a pedant reflecting the candlelight was the only thing he wore above his waist. But his friends did not look at it, not even Gimli. They focused on _him_, on...

The air in the room was warm to his naked skin. He heard a loud creaking and footsteps, and looking up he saw Gimli walking about lighting every candle or oil-lamp he could find to give more light. Probably also to clean some of his thoughts. Then he was laid half-bare before the ranger and healer's gaze, that strayed from his face over his chest and down to his stomach, which he now had covered with his arms.

"Legolas." The man's voice was only slightly impatient. Slowly, trembling, Legolas did as the man bid and revealed his abdomen. The bump was small and visibly only ever-so-slightly. But Aragorn saw it, and beamed. Legolas looked at him for the first time when a warm hand laid over his growth.

Aragorn did not look up. "This is amazing," he breathed.

Hearing whispered words, Gimli looked up. The man sat in eye-level with Legolas abdomen. It was not so very changed, visible... Aragorn bade the elf to lie down and he complied without a word, still in shock of finally letting go, letting them know. He tired to relax as he let Aragorn examine him – the man's touches becoming impersonal but throughout, hands of a healer throbbing at his stomach, his hips, and he blushed when they came closer to more ... personal areas... But he managed to lie still, still and just slightly tense.

"You seems to be developing just fine," Aragorn said satisfied. "You had me quite a scare, my friend... Though, you are too thin."

Legolas sat up from his awkward position, without giving any answer. His tongue felt thick and weak. Developing just fine ... Aragorn's voice had sounded faint. Most of his own attention was on Gimli now, who was staring at him intensely, weighting between speaking or not.

He started as Aragorn's hand touched his back, just by the wound. The man felt the flaw upon the otherwise soft skin, curing – it was not the first time Legolas was hiding wounds, but at his condition... "Legolas, when did you get this? Turn around so that I can have a look at it."

A sigh escaped Legolas' lips. He realized there was no escape this time. Resigned he did as he was told. "At the battle of Helm's Deep," he answered softly the man's question. "I ... I was focusing on something else, an Uruk took opportunity to try to injure me."

"Clumsy elf," Aragorn muttered. The wound was thin and clean and not so very deep, it would heal nicely by itself. It was slowly fading to pink. "Well, _now_ I am satisfied," he said but paused. "You are not hiding anything else, are you?"

Legolas managed a small smile. "No, I am not," he said and reached for his shirt and tunic. Neither man or dwarf protested when he dressed.

"Just be more careful next time," Aragorn murmured.

"Why did you not tell us earlier?" Gimli demanded suddenly, and Legolas looked up. He was worried, yes, more worried than he realized at first. One of the closest friends he had ever had was ... he was pregnant, for heaven's sake! And wounded! He had been out there, in a battle, fighting, and he had ran for days.. no food, no rest... And gods, he had seen so much turmoil and pain hidden in this elf – but this! Did Legolas not trust him, or Aragorn? He glanced at the man. Or had he known all along? 'No,' he thought. 'I would not think so. He seemed as chocked as I."

Legolas hung his head. So Gimli was angry, after all. But he had all right ... He had kept so many secrets, hidden from them. And the outburst... "I ... could not... I was afraid, I think, afraid of what your reaction would be." The words came out soft, hesitating. Gimli's temper smoothed some hearing this.

"But did you not trust us?" he blurted out. "Not even me? I may be a dwarf but that is not making me stupid, or blind. You have been hiding something for very long I know. But this behavior of yours could have harmed you – or the child! Did you even think?" He was angry, anger made by this worry. In truth, the words 'I am pregnant' had never been thought of before, he had never had a thought that Legolas could have been... But he were. He were pregnant, and no one could not be worried about that. "We care about you, you know. We're friends. I have been worried more than my heart can take, and angry you must know. Were you planning to tell us?"

"I... I don't know, yes, no... Yes... I would tell you, someday..." His swallowed rapidly, Gimli's voice had a tone he had never used before. And his eyes were fixed upon him and his face full of concern as well as fury. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I did not tell you but..." he bit his lip, tried to get his tongue to work and his heart slow down. He was afraid. Afraid of what Gimli thought. Aragorn accepted, comforted him, but Gimli ... The dwarf seemed to go several steps backwards, away from him. "But I couldn't, just couldn't...I do not expect you to understand ..." He took a deep breath. "I am sorry for not telling you earlier," he managed with a weak smile, eyes darting between man and dwarf.

Aragorn squeezed his shoulder. "_Ú-nad an ngohenad, mellon vuin_," he said and Legolas felt comforted by those words. He had heard them before, and he relaxed every time.

Gimli's shock appeared to falter along with his anger, thought now some annoyance rose to his face. "Make sense!" he said. "Keep that Elf-tongue from my ears. There is only so much I can handle in one day."

At this Legolas chuckled slowly. He could not decide whenever Gimli had said it seriously, or if simple tried to lighten the thick mood between them.

------

Gathered in the great hall were Gandalf, Théoden and the two hobbits. Aragorn had heard the wizard's call as well. Times were dire now. Sauron's eye had focused on Gondor but now also on something else – a hobbit, by the name of Took. Poor Pippin could never know, did Sauron now think _he, _a little hobbit from the Shire, had the Ring? The Palantír had just given one good thing, a glimpse of the enemy's plan; to strike towards Minas Tirith. The link created for a moment between the Dark Lord and the heir of Isirdur had been enough, it was the last warning – the King of men was coming forth. But he would make sure that no throne would exists for him to sit upon.

Legolas was pacing the corridors endlessly. Gimli was somewhere near, he heard his steps and his voice and felt his presence but did not turn to see him. He was worried now, would Aragorn tell Mithrandir and the others of his condition? Would he reveal his secret now? The doors around the king of Rohan and his guests were closed tight, it would be a perfect opportunity to...

'No', he told himself. 'He will let you decide when you are ready to tell...he will not say a word without asking if...' It was fine. Maybe he could steal a moment with the wizard and tell him. The hobbits did not need to know...did they? Not yet. They already had been thrown into so much, a war was at hand, a war greater than they could have imagined – more terrible than their nightmares. Such a secret would, should, be kept secret as long as possible. Such news would shock them...he was sure about that.

_It is not that they are not ready, _a voice in his mind murmured. _It is that you do not know them,not yet, do not trust them enough yet._

Voices, they filtered through the wooden door next to him, muffled. He recognized them. He stopped in his tracks, looked around, but no one were there. He had not eavesdropped since he was a child, his father had given him a lecture about it and it was nothing to laugh about. But he could not resist the urge now. He wanted to know! He needed to know! Why did they block him and Gimli out of this? Were they not trustful? Because they were of other strange races? But the hobbits, they were allowed to be in there!

_Ask them later, then. Or go inside, if you wish to know._

"...Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King on the throne!" That was Gandalf, and he sounded distressed. Aragorn... He was speaking of Aragorn. But it was not his friend who answered.

"Tell me," said Théoden's voice slowly, "why should we come to their aid? They did not come to ours."

_So you rather have hundreds of innocent people to die, do you? _Legolas cursed himself, he could not blame the King, even in his own mind, just like that. But he did not like him, it was something ... his demeanor around Aragorn, it irritated him. It took much of his will not to insult him aloud, but he knew only bad things would come of insulting a King.

A hiss broke him from the door. "Laddie?" Gimli whispered. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Listening, they should let us know what is going on!" Legolas said in a lowered voice. He backed from the door and looked at the dwarf. "Why is it that we cannot hear what they have to say?"

"Gandalf is saying something important," Gimli said, "and they say one should not meddle in a wizard's affairs."

Legolas felt still annoyed, he felt low and put away like a child that is not allowed to take a part in a conversation between his parents, or someone just in the way, a waste. "But they are-"

"Sch!" the dwarf suddenly hushed. Legolas felt the hairs on his neck stand, acknowledging that someone was approaching. The door opened a bit, and there stood Gandalf.

"I think you two has stood there listened long enough," he said, and he did not sound angry, to Legolas' relief. Somehow the wizard had all along known him standing and listening. "Perhaps you should have been invited as well. Come then!" he urged and dwarf and elf stepped inside. The hall was deadly quiet, something heavy rested there.

Suddenly Aragorn spoke. "I will ride to Minas Tirith," he said. "They must be warned."

But Gandalf shook his head a no, and looked from ranger to king to hobbit. For a moment his gaze went over him and Legolas avoided meeting his eyes. "I will ride to Minas Tirith," he said and turned lastly to Pippin, who looked up in confusion. He had sat silent most of the time, eyes downcast in guilt and embarrassment. "And I will not be going alone."

With that, they broke up, without giving elf or dwarf any time to understand what had been discussed, more what they could figure out themselves. The palantír had shown it; Minas Tirith was attacked, or would be. Merry and Pippin left, the last one glancing at Gandalf before leaving the room; he still wondered. The King excused himself. He would think now, perhaps he was weighting between the decision of sending aid to Gondor or not.

Decision... Taking a deep breath Legolas made his. He sat down on a chair in the corner of the room and waited.

Gimli looked at his friend for a moment, wondering what had caused this behavior, but Aragorn understood what Legolas was up to and quietly spoke to the dwarf. Together the two left, leaving a wizard and an elf. Mithrandir was silent, looking to be in thought, then suddenly he raised his eyes. "Will you finally tell now what bothers your heart, Legolas Greenleaf?" he asked. Seeing the elf's startled expression he laughed softly. Legolas found himself speechless, because he saw something, a deep understanding, in the wizard's eyes – and realized. He ...

Gandalf smiled and spoke softly while taking a seat by the table next to the elf. Legolas' gaze followed him, never tearing his eyes from him. "Yes, yes, I know. At least I suspected as much, since the meeting with Saruman. But I gave you time, so that you would tell us, rather than the other way around."

A sudden relief flooded through him. He had not needed to say it aloud, not once, and the wizard knew yet and understood what burden he carried. It was comforting. "H-How did you know?" he breathed.

"I knew not; I suspected," he said his voice still lowered so that they might not be overheard, even though no one else was in the room. "Saruman had many abilities he would no show, Legolas. I heard his voice speak other words than those he said aloud."

"I heard his voice," Legolas whispered. "In my mind..." Starting to recall the earlier events he shivered. "He knew...knows... Mithrandir, can he..." He took a breath to steady his voice and looked at the wizard, almost pleadingly. "Can he..." He was not sure what he wanted to know. He just wanted a confirmation, a promise that everything was fine and he had not to worry.

A smile still graced the old man's face. "No, he cannot do any harm," Mithrandir said. "He has no powers anymore, no strong powers now that his Staff has been broken."

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, newer fresher memories coming back to him in a stream. "Mithrandir, when Aragorn held the palantír..." At his words, Gandalf leaned slightly closer, focused even more now. "I steadied him, and for a moment... I felt linked some Darkness, it left like _he_ stared at me..." He was afraid, actually. Did Sauron know? Could he somehow use dark magic or other powers to harm the child? The old wizard saw and heard hos worry and took his hand, a gesture of comfort. "Can he...?"

"I know not," Mithrandir said quietly. "I know not. I doubt he will first understand just what he saw and felt, Legolas. That it was a new life he saw. The link between you and him was not as strong as it could have been, as Aragorn was the one that the Dark Lord focused upon."

"Because he is heir of Elendil," Legolas murmured, smiling a small smile suddenly. "There is some Hope left."

"A Hope that can make all the Dark Lord's plans fail," Gandalf answered. Both sat silent for a moment, and the elf avoided to look at him. After a moment of contemplating his thoughts, he moved to leave, standing up and smothering his white robes. "Now I must make haste," he said, "Time is running out. I trust that you have told Aragorn, and Gimli as well perhaps, by now?"

Legolas knew exactly what he was talking about. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, Estel knows. And Gimli."

"Good, good," the wizard said with a smile. "Good. You should perhaps reveal this little notion to Meriadoc as well, now that he must stay here in Rohan with you." With those words, which Legolas frowned upon, he left. Then the frown softened. Ah, young Pippin must have been the one to ride to Minas Tirith with Mithrandir. Yes, he was the one to look into the palantír, after all...

He sighed and rubbed his temples. Telling had not been as hard now, not now when Mithrandir was a wizard and knew things he did not. But Merry... Would it be unfair to shut him out, to hide this from him? Did Merry see him as a friend? They had only spoken rarely, never only the two of them, like he had never spoken to any of the hobbits alone. He was young, and the hobbit's heart would be heavy now when Pippin left ... The two small creatures held a deep relationship, they were friends just as close as him and Aragorn, Legolas mused; or perhaps more than friends... That made him smile. So young, yet they had been through so much. All these troubles of the world. Perhaps it would be unfair to heave Merry's mind with his condition, his troubles... 'I will wait,' he decided. 'Then I will know what to do.'

When he left the room, he went out to the stables to see Arod. Not only to see if the horse was taken well care of, as he were without doubt, but also, someone to talk to without being questioned or judged. The horse did not seem to mind his presence at all, whined softly and smelled him, searching for treats. The large nose of the horse bumped against his chest and then his stomach, and it was almost like the horse knew... Legolas shook his head, he was taking ridiculous things for granted... He groomed the horse, even though the white mane and fur already was shining. He checked his body, any sign of distress or injury, just to do something, and made sure he had food and water. Consciously trying to delay going back, seeing his friends, or having to tell someone else...

Would King Théoden have to know? Was this something the King of these lands should know? And his niece and nephew, Éowyn and Éomer, would they have to know as well? The thought of telling so many made him dizzy again and he leaned against Arod's side, an arm around the horse's neck. Arod stomped softly with his food and nudged his master's neck with a snort.

Emotions had started to catch up with him again, when he had stopped doing something and thought had returned to his mind. Along with worry, confusion, anger, guilt... It hurt. Suddenly he felt so tired, miserable. He sunk down on the hay the corner of the stable, and when Arod kneeled next to him as if trying to give warmth and comfort, he manage a weak smile and leaned against the horse's warm body. Something wet blurred his eyes, and he could not stop the tears. No, why cound he not just be – angry! Furious! Not sad, disappointed, crying. Not this ... If he was angry he'd have powers to hang on, but now he hadn't.

At least no one else was there. He was alone. Arod poked the elf's side as if to remind him he wasn't, before he too settled to rest. A sigh escaped Legolas' lips. "What a mess I have gotten myself into..."

------

_**Author's note: **That's the chapter, not so very long. But I'll try to update soon again! And you saw I changed some facts, like Gimli and Legolas weren't with the King and the others when Gandalf told them he would leave and that... Don't ask me why. I don't know._

_**Elvish:**  
Ú-nad an ngohenad, mellon vuin- there is nothing to forgive, dear friend_

_**Reviews:**_

_Nomad Princess: Thank you like and read this! But we'll have time to find out more soon... Now that both some good people and Bad Guys knows, Legolas is caught up in a mess, I know not really how to get him out of there!_

_mikinyet: Thanks for the review! Yeah, new problems arise as soon they've gotten rid of something else... But Aragorn and Gimli cares of him. They won't let Legolas fight at the Pelennor Fields; if he does anyway, they're so going to kill him._

_glostarz: Thank you, thank you! Next chapter's here, hope you like this as well :)_

Sarah H:_ Tack :) I put more effords in that chapter, or tried to, I was not so sure how to get Legolas' message across..._


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's notes: **I haven't been able to write for a while, as I took a part of a musical/theatrical/cultural festival over a day (UKM "Ung Kultur Möts", if you know what that is), so that took much of my writing time. But anyway, here we are again. Feed me with ideas please! I need to fill out the 'Rohan-time' I think...

**----**

**Chapter 15**

**----**

While Gandalf was giving Pippin a glare and a lecture about not touching things or meddle in affair he was not a part of – For the hundredth time, or something like that: he had lost count long ago – Merry was curiously eyeing the Palantír, careful not to touch it of course. The round object stared at him without a word. The surface was blank and cold, but for a moment, something deep inside of it rippled...like a wave breaking water. Curiosity grabbed him in a strong grasp: he leaned forward, reached out.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck! Stay away from that, lad! These damned Tooks are influencing you too much already!" At the wizard's sharp voice he quickly retreated from the stone without looking at it. Gandalf gave the two hobbits a last warning look, before he hid the Seeing Stone under blankets and grabbed his gray coat as he went outside.

Pippin was shuffling his feet. "I'm hungry," he said at last. "Maybe we should go find something to eat?" he suggested.

His cousin lightened at the mention of food, realized how hungry he was. None of them had not even had a single meal yet. Breakfast was in order. There were no objections. Off they went, trying to find the kitchens. There must be some of those somewhere!

When passing a closed door, there was suddenly loud voices heard, and they stopped, looking at each other. People inside they were shouting at each other – they heard at least two different voices. And they recognized them, at least one of them. For a moment they stood still, listening. "Maybe it's not right time to eavesdrop," Merry whispered.

Pippin frowned. "But they sound upset. Maybe we should go inside ask them to calm down? Had the door been open half of the Shire would have heard them!" His murmured reply was cut when he heard running footsteps. "Quick, hide!" he gasped, grabbing his cousin's wrist and dragging him to the shadows behind a wooden pillar not far from the door. Merry wanted to protest, they would be in trouble this time, but Pippin laid a hand over his mouth to silence him.

A very familiar man came rushing down, stopping by the door, pausing. He seemed to busy to even look at their way. The voices filtered through the door to be followed by a crash. Merry exchanged a look with his cousin, maybe it was a bad idea to hide... Or maybe it was even a worse idea to reveal themselves right now. The man knocked at it twice, before he paused once again. When there was no answer, Aragorn kicked at the door and it opened slightly. They hide quickly backing away when Gimli's face appeared in the crack, so that they were not within sight. The dwarf and man spoke a little, or so they thought, before the man slipped inside closing the door after himself.

What did this mean?

Sparkled by demanding curiosity, they sneaked on tip-toe closer and leaned towards the door, pressing their ears to the wood. Gimli's voice spoke breaking the silence that had fell inside.

"Well, care to explain now?"

There was more silence. There was a lot of silence. Nothing seemed to fill it. Neither man or dwarf in there spoke, they appeared to be waiting for something to happening...

"Maybe we should to back," Pippin whispered barely above a breath, afraid to get caught. "We're in heavy trouble if Gandalf finds us here."

"Sch!" Merry hushed him; he had heard something, the flight creaking of a floor, and then a muffled voice. It was almost inaudible, and he could just make out sounds but no words. He looking at his friend, who on the other hand looked slightly ... surprised. "What?" he demanded in a whisper. "What did they say?"

"I don't know really," was the muffled answer. "But I think I heard someone say something about a child."

They slowly tried to move away. They heard Gimli speak again, but not as loud as before. "So this is serious?"

They heard no answer. When hearing something else, steps that was, they hurried from the door and jogged down the corridor. Trying to look as if they had not heard anything. But no one asked anyway, so maybe no one knew. Merry found himself pondering the few words he had heard, what was so wrong, what did they mean...? And what about a child? What child?

The kitchens were easy enough to find. They found Éowyn as well and she had smiled softly when they asked where to find a nice breakfast, with toast and tea and roasted bacon, eggs. They were no disappointed, thought they were given some strange bread with a taste they were unused to. Pippin missed mushrooms, and to his disappointment there were none here either. But the rest of the meal was good and tasteful. They sat content and eating and drinking, in silence for a while, by a table in the Golden Hall's corner.

"So, what do you think?" Pippin piqued up, before taking a mouthful of bread. "About the ... the conversation, I mean. The one we just heard. Or argue, rather. Hm, I really like the taste of this."

Merry chewed at his bacon. "I do not know, and maybe, I don't want to know," he said. "What if Gandalf was there?"

"You mean, to set us into trouble. But he should have noticed us, right?" Pippin asked. "Would he not?"

"I think so," Merry answered. "Though, I wonder what they meant with that child... Did you heard something else?"

But his cousin shook his head a no, thought his eyes suddenly widened as he remembered something. "I don't recognize the voice," he said, "But it was clearly male, as it said ' I am with child.'"

Merry's eyes bulged and he choked. "You must be joking! Are you sure not some woman said it?" It sounded not disgusting, just strange and a little creepy. Maybe eavesdropping had been a bad idea, after all. But Gimli and Aragorn were involved with this matter some way... "Maybe Strider and Gimli will tell us," he said. "I mean, explain... We're a Fellowship, aren't we?"

Pippin nodded solemnly. But they couldn't ask, then they'd figure out that they had listened through the door. Put them into trouble. Oh, damn wizard! If not for his nice fireworks, of course. They were not so bad.

They finished their meal in a unusual, sombre silence.

**

There was a dream again... It was strange, he had not have dream like this before.

There was a nothing...a dark, blackness, where he could not feel ... could not do anything ... He knew not if he stood or sat or floated, maybe he was running, but he felt nothing, not his body, felt nothing but this darkness.

A giggle, a soft childish sound – it floated over him and came closer. A small voice, gurgling like a newborn babe's. He did not understand. Did not understand, where he was, what his meant ... Nothing at all.

The giggle softened, turned into a keening wail and then to a whimper, of fear, pain, before it had faded and was gone.

Fire. Suddenly it flared up, everywhere, inside and outside, all around him. Feeling him. Burning him. Sensations returned at once. It burned, it hurt, and he saw nothing but fire. Chaos. Among those flames he saw people, he saw white stone, and there was a high pale tree. Dead and burning. Tehre was total chaos, and it grabbed him. He tried to get away, struggled, and suddenly he felt ground to his feet. He lost balance the same second, fell and for a moment everything turned deadly silent, everything faded.

He was alone, startled and alone and afraid, lying upon a floor of cold. He looked around, but there was nothing...nothing to contrast the darkness and nothing but cold against his naked body. There was cold, so sudden against the burning flames – but then, a warmth, in his heart and deep inside his body... He tried to stand, but slipped like he had walked upon ice. His head fell backwards as he fell – and his eyes opened wide.

_Fear._

A large staring Eye. Searching him, his whole being, filling every edge of his vision. He tried to crawl away but the further away he came, the closer the Eye moved and the larger it grew. Then was the voice. The deep, dark voice, followed and surrounded by murmurs, echoes, whispers.

It lay him bare, not in flesh but in soul. His very Feä lay there, and iron hands reached out to grab it, but there was something else – a new, young soul, blind and unaware of danger yet. The Eye saw, watched in fascination, reached out...

He tried to back away but coldness, intenser than any pain he had ever felt before, stopped him, and there was no struggles that could hold the Eye back. He whimpered, afraid, so afraid, and there was pain, and burning fingers touched his naked skin.

_A scream._

**

It was so quiet. Merry did not like it. He found himself strolling around, down the halls, out again to the fresh air, bored and with no direction. What now, then? He ha no idea what to do now. After Pippin's departure, with Gandalf, he felt so utterly alone. But Aragorn had spoken with him, though, comforted him some since Pippin had left. He had not seen Gimli for a while now, he surely was with Legolas, the elf. Some strange kind of friendship had blossomed between the two, Merry had noticed. He had heard that elves and dwarves had this old feud and hated each other deeply, though he knew not much of that, and asking Gandalf was pointless. The wizard would just shake his head and say and yes and no at the same time, making no sense whatsoever. Aragorn was no much better: when he had asked the other day, he just received a smirk and a not less cryptic answer.

His feet guided him to the rooms he was currently sharing with Aragorn, and he started to pack his and Pippin's belongings, though they had never had much. Just to occupy himself. "Would suit with a lunch right now," he thought aloud when his stomach grumbled. "No, that's second breakfast. All these Men and I know not what are getting on my mind!"

He trudged to the kitchens, disappointed when he found that luncheon was not served until an hour. What now, where to go now? He walked around, no direction again, then found himself up in the open, a fresh slightly cold wind ruffled his locks. People looked at him curiously as he passed. He was a strange creature, his face like the one of a man but beardless, but his body was short and small like the one of a boy's. And the folk of Rohan were tall people, thought maybe not as tall as the Dunadain, Aragorn's kin.

He missed Pippin even more. Not more than an hour could have passed since he'd gone. It was so empty. Though that he often was irritated at his younger friend, annoyed at all his questions and foolish rambling, he still was funny and a part of his life, something that had always been there. In itch he'd grown to like. It was strange to not have him to talk to, laugh with, take a beer and a good meal with.

A scream drifting from the building next to him took him from his thoughts. What was that? What had happened? This town was quiet, only with the sound of grass and horses and work every day. The scream sounded ... strange, unnatural. Not like the one of someone of Mankind. Not like a dwarf or a hobbit either. He hurried into the building, worried all of sudden. It was a barn, and horses inside their stables were shifting and whining nervously. They all looked awfully large, but then they were horses, not ponies. Merry could never ride such a thing, he knew. They were too big for him. But in a stable almost furthest away from the door, a white steed was bending his neck, poking and sniffing at something that lay on the hay floor.

"Calm down, boy," Merry said. "There you go, there you go..." Murmuring to the horse, he opened the stable... and stared at the unexpected scene before him.

On the ground lay Legolas, his eyes opened wide but strangely blank and unseeing. They stared frozen up ahead, while whimpers and cries came from the elf's lips. He was trembling and shaking violently, trashing on the ground like in a state of shock. Merry felt panic rise, what should he do? He called for help and kneeled, laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder and tried to keep him still. Legolas' pained, strangled cry grew to a scream. His voice was so strange...Not soft or melodic, elven in any way, unlike what he had heard from the elf's lips before – or any elf. It was a hollow sound. It hurt.

"Somebody help me! Damnation, help!" Merry cried, eyes wide and heart in his throat. He had never seen Legolas like this before. He had never seen_ anyone_ like this before.

Legolas struggled against the small hands holding him down, sweat broke his whole body. Merry head not the footsteps running up behind him, until a body came up next to him, holding the mad golden being down. And succeeding. The elf's eyes began rolling their sockets, backwards into his scull. Then, he stilled suddenly. Merry's heart leaped threefold.

Was he...He wasn't dead was he?

Legolas' eyes, they had closed now... A cold fear gripped his heart. What if Legolas was dead? Was this some new evil magic, some devilry of Sauron's making? Would it happen again?

"He is breathing," he heard the newcomer murmur and then he realized he had company. And turning to look at him – it was someone he recognized. Éomer. "What happened?"

"Milord," Merry breathed, still in fear and panic and shock. "I do not know, I was walking around and then was this scream, and I came running afraid the sound and found him ... like mad, trashing and screaming madly on the floor. I have never seen Legolas like that before! Is he alright?" he wanted to know.

"He will be fine," Éomer answered softly, laying his arms under the elf's body and lifting him. He was surprisingly light. "Once he has seen a healer, that is."

When he left with the unconscious elf in his arms, Merry followed anxiously in his trail. He was worried now, he had not known Legolas so well or so long, but Legolas was at least good enough to become a comrade. A good comrade, maybe even. 'But what happened?' he thought. 'Was this some spell cast from afar?'

The elf was brought to the healers, and some boy was sent out to search for Aragorn and Gimli. Maybe they could explain the elf's strange behavior. While the healers examined the elf and laid him on a bed making sure he was comfortable, Merry took seat on a chair by the bed's edge, worryingly sitting there waiting rolling his thumbs. One of the maids in the room suddenly called for an elder healer, spoke quickly in Rohirric with wide eyes. Merry's gaze shot up. What was wrong? The healer removed the elf's tunic and the shirt, giving them to a maid or healer in the room.

Two ugly wounds marred Legolas' left arm, a sharp contrast to the pale skin. There was one on the right side as well, but it was different, not as deep or as clean. Different weapons had been used here. 'When did he get that?' Merry wondered, remembering then of the great battle that had taken place. Aragorn and Gimli had spoken of it, but Legolas had not said much at all about it. Not because he usually said much... But, it wasn't the elf's arms that were in the healer's attention.

"Will he be all right?" Merry asked softly, getting to his feet walking over to the bedside. "He will, won't he?"

The healer just nodded solemnly, while gently pressing his thumb on the elf's belly. He felt something amiss here. Elven anatomy was different from a Man's, surely, but this different... Had the elf been a female, he would have thought he was ... But that was impossible! He needed to speak with the ranger, Aragorn. He must know better of elves, he was traveling with this one after all.

Merry's tongue was on the edge of saying something when said ranger came into the room, worriedly seating on the bed next to the elf. "Legolas?" he breathed, leaning in. Legolas did not look good at all, he was unusually pale and sweating, his breath came in gulps. "What happened?" asked Merry but without looking at him.

"In the stables... he was like mad," was the hobbit's shaky reply. "He must have collapsed but lay there thrashing around, screaming... Strider, can you fix him? You can, right? He's not seriously hurt is he?" The questions came in a river from Merry's mouth.

"Merry, has he told you?" Aragorn asked, suddenly.

The halfling just looked confused, and a little afraid. "Told me? About what?"

Aragorn looked up and searched the hobbit's eyes. There was no lie there. So, Legolas had not spoken to him. It did not surprise him... 'Legolas will kill me for this,' he thought and said. "He is pregnant, Merry." Seeing Merry's eyes bulge like the ranger had become mad, he explained, "This is strange news for me as well, Merry, but it is true." But Merry managed not to say a word, he just stared in disbelief. Pregnancy was new for him, as he had not yet married in the Shire, it was a strange concept. But ... Legolas, pregnant? A _male _pregnant? That sounded... he started when Aragorn grabbed his small hand and guided it to Legolas' belly.

It was warm, soft, and round. That was the only description – there was not a flatness but a slight bulge beneath his hand. "My lord," he gasped, suddenly a nervous laughter escaped his mouth. "My lord, elves are pretty strange then! Oh, Sam would have loved this, you know, he and elves...He's never stop bombarding him with questions. Legolas, I mean..." His words trailed off when he realized he was babbling and all the stares he and Aragorn were getting from the healers and the maids. They were five in total in the room.

Then they began to speak rapidly in Rohirric with´Aragorn. The man seemed to know the tongue well and answered them, spoke, explained. Merry knew not of what. It did not matter to him, anyway. He looked from the ranger, who now had stood up in front of the others, to the unconscious elf on the bed. Took a pale hand in his own. The elf's hand was strangely large, his own's double size, but unlike Aragorn's it was pale and thin, almost spider-like...

Legolas was slowly shifting, just slightly, but enough for Merry to catch the movement. "He's waking up!" he said excitedly, breaking the healers' off from their conversation. The same moment, the door opened again, revealing a panting dwarf.

"What has gone into the damn pointy-ear now?" he asked, clearly insulted that he had been interrupted by the errand boy from whatever he had been doing. His voice softened though, seeing that his comrade was laying on the bed instead of standing or sitting somewhere smirking at him. He was also shirtless. That meant, the people in this room maybe knew of his secret. Gimli wanted answers now. "Curse elves, a plague upon their stiff necks!" Gimli exclaimed and came to the bedside. Aragorn gathered around the bed with him with a healer, though the others in the room seemed to back away, giving room not overwhelm the elf as he woke.

His eyes didn't open. It was a disappointment. He shifted, a muffled whimper left his lips – but his eyes did not open. The elf's body suddenly tensed up, like a bowstring before the shot,and his mouth opened like for a scream but not a sound was heard.

"What is wrong with him?" said Merry in a small voice. "What's going on?"

**

Fire.

It held him down.  
It hurt.  
He had a choice, a dangerous one, it was letting himself get caught, or letting his child get caught, hurt, killed. He could not let that happen.  
He chose.  
It hurt.

The fire flared up around him and took control of him, the voices' volume increased and he fell, deaf and blind, on an impulse he started to fight – a Darkness took him, and tried to reach his child. To protect the new young life, the young soul, took all of his will and powers.

The fire did not cease.  
It burned him, like chains around his soul.

When he found his voice, it felt so weak. He felt so weak. He had let all barriers around him fall, let them grow only to protect his child, resting within his body. "Let me go! Let go!"

**

The elf began trashing, he started to struggle some invincible enemy. It took Aragorn and Gimli's whole strength to hold him down. A strangled cry left his lips. It grew into some raw scream, not unlike the shriek of some vulture circling above dead bodies on a battlefield. It was a terrifying sound, an elf's beautiful voice should not be turned into something so awful. Merry didn't know what to do, he felt in the way.

Then the elf's voice turned into words instead, but still as loud as before, cries and screams. The elf's chest was heaving rapidly. He didn't understand the words, not at all, but the tongue wasn't elven, and the words were a horror to all the room.

"_Ash búbhosh __búrz __nazg burzum-ishi durbatulûk_!"

Aragorn's eyes widened, and his grip loosened for a moment. The elf's eyes opened that moment – they were milky white, blind, as if some dark power had taken him over. A scream left his lips and he shot up like struck by lightening. He lashed out blindly, hitting Aragorn's chest with a thud sending the man flying across the room. Panic flared up within the people in the room. Even in his weakened state, the elf was dangerously strong – or maybe, the thing or who that controlled him now, or appeared to, was so strong. Merry backed away and tried to cover his ears, a maid and a healer sprang over to Aragorn who staggered to his feet. "Hold him down!" the man cried. They needed this to stop now! They would need Gandalf now!

Gimli had a strong grip of the elf. He would not let go. He was not immune of the Black Speech, but it hurt not so much in his ears like in the Mens' or the hobbit's.

"_Snaga_!"

With that last scream the elf suddenly stilled. Eyes staring up ahead at the ceiling. Gimli did not let go, not until every muscle in the elf's body had relaxed. Still, those eyes stared up ahead. They cleared, no longer pale, though unfocused – he was not awake yet. His heart was racing. As were their hearts, those in the room. Panic still not had stilled.

After a long silence filled with only ragged breaths, Merry blurted out in a shaky voice; "What the bloody hell was that?"

----

_**Author's note**: Hope you liked that. Or, enjoyed a little. I must get Legolas out of there! They need Gandalf very, very much right now... Too bad is almost in Gondor by now!_

_**Black Speech:**_

_Ash búbhosh búrz nazg, burzum-ishi durbatulûk! - One great dark ring, to in darkness rule them all!  
Snaga – Slaves!_

_(If you find any faults in the Black Speech tell me, I don't know any grammar of it, more than what you find in the books! Which is not much at all...)_

_**Reviewers:**_

_darkbloodymoon: Here you are! And thanks for reading. I'm always bunching up and down of getting a new reader :) There's more to come of this yet!_

_Nomad Princess: Well, at least some people knows now... I think Legolas *is* going to kill Aragorn for this. A little. And for Sauron... I'm getting evil here, it feels like Sauron soon is going to know *everything* about our poor elf...And the child. Gods, there's so much to be solved here. Legolas will need all help from his friends he can get._

_mikinyet: Okay, I admit that Merry (and Pippin) aren't so much "part of the gang" anymore... But I'll try to bring them in! At least, one of them. In the end, mustn't almost everyone know of Legolas' pregnancy, so this can't be kept hidden forever! (I wonder what the reaction or Éomer, Éowyn and all those other Rohan-people would be...)_

_glostarz: Ain't it cute! (I'm in love with Legolas' bump already, but that's just me being me.) Anyway, Gimli just must keep friends with Legolas. Then he won't leave him from sight a second. Almost feel a little sorry for Legolas then... _


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's note: **Here we are again. I've been done some reachers regarding the LotR-timeline, trying to stay true to both books and movies, and found that (according to me), by now it is between Mars 4h and Mars 6th the Third Age 3019. That makes Legolas about 7 months pregnant (our of the elven 12). So he's not so very flat anymore I realize ... Sorry about some confusion earlier!_

**---**

**Chapter 16**

**---**

Floating...He was floating in a velvet blackness. There was no cold...no warmth...no feeling... No Eye staring at him, through him. He was safe.

_There was a call...a call of his name._

His child...was safe. Yes, his child was safe.

_Calling..._

Slowly, he returned to awareness. His mind worked out of the haze. His gaze focused, and for a moment unfocused again at the sharp light around him. Everything was so light! He couldn't see, he felt blind by it for a second. Then feeling started to return to his body. First, there was a softness around him, like he was lying draped in blankets. He was warm. Not in nauseating heat, not bitter cold, just warmness around him. Made him comfortable. There were voices...But they were soft, they were not cold or dark or deep, not whispering either. They were normal, but close.

"Oi! He's waking up!"

The cry was excited and he did not recognize the voice. It wasn't Aragorn's... And too light to be Gimli's. But then who...?

A hand took his. It was warm as well, slightly rough, tanned by age and hard work. It was familiar. The scent that followed with a soft murmuring voice... Those were even more familiar, clear and near to his heart. He tried to speak and focus but his voice came out lame and raspy, and the face before him was blurred. "_E-Estel_?" he managed. He felt so weak...

"_Thand_," Aragorn murmured back. "Ni si_._"_  
_

Legolas relaxed, sinking into the soft covers. He felt disorientated, knew not where he was, but Aragorn was here, so it was all right. There was no fire here, no chains holding him down. FO a moment, he could rest. But he felt afraid to fall asleep. If he let go, then the Dark one would come and...

For a moment his eyes fluttered shut, he tried to push the memory of burning hands holding him down away: Aragorn spoke again, now with a tingle of worry. "_Ce maer?_"

At once Legolas opened his eyes again. He saw things clearer now, not so blurred – Aragorn's face was lined with a concern that should not have been there, by his side was Gimli, oh the so stubborn dwarf would kill him, and, to his surprise, a halfling. Ah, now he remembered. Meriadoc, that was his name. 'What is he doing here?' He forced his tongue to work again. It felt strangely thick and lazy. "_Maer_," came a murmur. "_Im maer, Estel_..."_  
_

Gimli looked displeased. "Speak something we all understands, elf. What happened?" he asked. Of course, Legolas mused, it was so typically Gimli to, when in the company of others, cover his worry with annoyance, displeasure, or anger.

"Cannot ... remember," he lied. He did not wish to talk of what had happened. Not yet. No, not yet. If he did he wanted to be stronger, and alone with either Gimli or Aragorn. Not with any others. Aragorn frowned but accepted the answer. He knew some of the thoughts running through Legolas' mind right now, this unwillingness to uncover the truth so quickly. Gently he put a cup filled with water to the elf's lips. "Drink slowly," he advised, helping the elf to sit up slightly. Legolas did as bid before he settled down again.

The man then started ask him about his welfare, was he feeling tire,d did it hurt... Legolas let it wash over him, only half-focused on it. Gimli and Merry spoke not much,only once in awhile, before suddenly a healer burst into the room, telling them to leave the elf alone. Hours had passed, or maybe not hours, but a very long time. Legolas was relieved, thought it was strange to have Aragorn pushed away from his bedside – only Elrond had done that before, long ago in Imradis, after misadventures...

With old memories in mind he fell asleep.

---

It was a restless sleep. He tossed, turned, in dreams he could not remember.

After many hours he awoke again – it was the middle of the night. It was cold, and dark. And he felt sick. Cursing, he fumbled out to find something to hold on to to get to his feet, cursing loudly when he happened to touch and roll over a cup. It was sent flying to the floor and water spilled out. He could not see much more than outlines of furniture. Weak moonlight spilled through a single window in the room. Now, where was he? And where was there any bathroom? Fighting to keep the nauseousness down he managed to get to his feet and moved over to the nearest door. It was locked, damn it! The second was not, though it creaked loudly when he opened it.

A corridor stretched out before him. He could not see beyond the darkness in them, but thought he saw they have turns at both ends. It was only dimly lit, and realized he could not make it through without getting sick somewhere in the middle. Closing the door again, he blundered over to the bed and sat down, trying to hold back the sickness.

Waited. Then he retched, but nothing came up.

He felt too warm all of sudden. The room was so warm and enclosed and small, held him trapped. He stood up on shaking legs, then happened to step into something wet and realized it must the water from the cup he had turned over. Damn, damn, damn... Wobbling over to the window, he grabbed the frame and managed to open it without any trouble. The air outside hit in like a cold slow wave, it was refreshing.

Slowly leaning out into the night, his stomach settled. He took many mouthfuls of chilled air, closed his eyes, tried to relax many tense muscles. He imagined he was somewhere else. In a forest at dusk, under mighty trees, resting on soft moss. Murmurs in his mind...comforting him. He wanted to go to Fangorn again, or Lothlórien, or any other forest. Anywhere but here.

_Anywhere but Mirkwood_, a small voice reminded him. The voice, he realized now, reminded somehow of Gollum's. The poor creature had sat in the cellars of his father's kingdom, murmuring and whispering to himself. The guards, he remembered, they had complained, they were always so disturbed by this ever-continuing whispering. It was hearing two voices, two personalties, from one mouth. It was unsettling, like a poisonous venom. It had taken them time to be used to it and finally ignore it.

Gollum. If not for Gollum, the damned creature which he had been forced to watch and have command over, if not him, then Egil would have been here, breathing, alive. If not for the orders of his father, there would not have been any attack of orcs that starless night, the creature would not have escaped, and Egil would not have been... Egil would not have not been killed. If not for...

It was getting worse, and he felt sick but for a different reason than before. It hurt, in his heart... he leaned against the window frame, opened his eyes with a staggering breath, could not hold back a tear. It felt like biting ice against his cheek. But yet, it was ... welcome. This coldness. It soothed his wounds since the flames, that had surrounded and burned it.

It did not hurt, the cold. The worst pain...He hoped that the worst pain was over.

----

They ate a slow meal in silence. Though he was tired, Merry's mind was so full of questions he could not let them be. The child – then he realized that the child that Aragorn and Gimli had been speaking of the other day, when he and Pippin heard the argue – it was about the child. Carefully avoiding saying anything that would betray he had heard the argue, only what he had heard just before or figured out himself, he asked Aragorn and Gimli. A lot. About Legolas, mostly, but also of what they would do next – would they follow Gandalf to Minas Tirith? In that case, with or without an army from Rohan? Or would they go alone? Or would they do something else? Stay here, wait?

Truth was, Aragorn held something from him. And Gimli, but he wondered if it were the same things. They knew not much of Legolas' condition either: how it was possible, how far along he was ... Suddenly, he wondered aloud. "I wonder who the father is?" he looked from man to dwarf. They looked uncomfortable all of sudden. They had not asked of that matter before. And Legolas had not spoken a word of it – something that maybe was a bad sign.

"I do not know, my young friend," Aragorn said at last. "We should ask once he is better, though."

Merry nodded, finishing his meal. Actually, he was not so shocked over the elf's pregnancy anymore. He was curios, and excited. He knew not much of elves...He had never seen any elves doing anything indicating a romance relationship, no sweet words, no kisses stolen for a moment. He thought, with their looks, in Rivendell there'd be plenty of couples, but it seemed there weren't. Not in Lothlórien either. All the elves seemed melancholy...and alone. And... Legolas had never even hinted that he had a lover. That was strange. Merry was puzzled over this. When he asked Aragorn about why keeping such a thing hidden, the man answered softly. "I know not his intentions...But one possibility is that this relationship of Legolas is a secret one, against the will of his father or the court, perhaps."

"But why would he keep secret he was...pregnant? I mean..." Merry blushed. He had never blushed before with these friends. But then again, he had never spoken of such matters with them before either. "I mean, he's going to...grow, isn't he?" he asked finally, making a cupping motion over his own belly. "Though, I thought he must be quite far along by now. I mean...There's been months since we left Rivendell...and I guess the father is an elf from there or his home, or maybe in Lórien..." He blushed to the tip of his ears.

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully but did not speak. He was thinking again. The halfling was right, and he had risen thoughts within him as well. Who was the father? A cold fear gripped him suddenly, an anger, and he wasn't aware that both his companions glanced at him as he tensed and his face deepened in an angry frown. Legolas had not been forced, had he?!

'If anyone has hurt him that way, I will rip whoever did it into pieces,' he declared for himself. He certainly would.

----

He sang. A rhythm from his heart. It was low, a mere whisper. His voice belonged not to himself anymore. For a moment, Egil's voice took over his tongue. That song, he remembered it now – he had sung it so long ago... It felt so long ago... Sung to him and whispered 'I love you', one of those nights before he left; like a shadow like he had never been there... As he always did. Unnoticed.

_Aníron...ai, aníron _

_Le aníron, pen vain vuin _

_A le melon, pen vain vuin _

_Avo 'osto _

_Ni si_

_Le melon, pen vain vuin _

_A linnon am meleth vîn... _

_Mel-eth. Mel-eth._

He knew not how long he just stood there. He stood there and stared at the night sky, crying but without any sound. When cold grew uncomfortable, he stepped back and closed the window. He felt not so tired anymore. He had the urge to run, just somewhere, to get rid of this energy that he had gained now. Just to...

A fluttering in his stomach made his gasp in surprise. It cut him off, all thoughts. There, inside him, something moved. A kick against his stretched skin. It did not hurt, it was just new to him. There it was again! Stronger this time... Laying a hand on his stomach, he felt his child move. Still the child was so small, but strong... strong like his father. He felled no tears anymore, just stood there with his belly in his hands and felt the child stretch his or her small legs for the first time.

He wondered if Egil was somewhere among the stars, twinkling high above, watching him. He wondered if he was proud, really proud, like he had said in that dream long ago...

_The worst pain had to be over._

-----

Long time passed before anything happened again. Then he sat down on the bed's edge, waiting, but he knew not for what. For something to happen. He wondered where Gimli and Aragorn were... Were they asleep? He felt alone here...He needed to be in someone else's presence. He looked about the room, stood and stretched out his hands, felt his way in the room. The light of the moon was dimmed more now, when the moon had passed behind some heavy clouds on the night sky. A weak curse left his lips when he bumped into something, a chair. It was next to the bedside table. There must be some source of light here, an oil-lamp, or some candles...

There! He found something, an focusing his gaze and holding the object out in the weak moonlight – it was a candle in its stand. He found some matches as well, and managed to lit the candle. The warm light spread lazily about him and it was welcome.

His cloak laid on the chair, neatly folded, over his also folded tunic and shirt. He had not realized that someone had changed his clothing. A white shirt hang loosely around his upped body, though it stretched some over his belly. Putting down the candle he laid the cloak around him, it warmed him even though the fabric was thin.

Aragorn or Gimli must be near...They would not leave him for long, not now he knew. Taking the candle by the stand and holding it before him, he walked into the corridor. It was so empty...But not as empty as before, not now with the warm soft light radiating from his hand. From a room in the far end, he heard murmurs... muffled voices. He knocked once, twice, softly on the door, before he turned the knob with his free hand. It opened soundlessly.

"Legolas!" Aragorn said, turning and coming to his feet in an instant. Even though he looked slightly dismayed, his voice was not sharp. Legolas saw that Gimli and Merry were fallen asleep in the corner, still on their seats, leaning over a table. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I was...looking for you?" Legolas said trying to sound innocent. Aragorn rolled his eyes but let him inside, laying an arm around him. Legolas did not protest when he was led to the table and told to sit down, the candle taken from his hand and instead was there placed a cup. He looked at it suspiciously.

"It will help you sleep," Aragorn supplied.

"I do not need to sleep," Legolas said, pushing the cup away. "I am not tired."

"It is supposed to _make_ you tired," Aragorn said with a sigh. "You shouldn't be up and about. And as Gimli and Merry are asleep, you could take time and rest without them disturbing you. If he finds out, Gimli -"

"-Will be mad. Yes. I know."

Legolas hesitated, before he sipped. It did not taste good, like most of Aragorn's herb-mixes and the like. But then, suddenly, he stopped. There was a strange tingle in his fingers. So, Aragorn was not lying then. He felt his friend support him with his arms. "_Posto_, m_ellon vuin_," Aragorn murmured, urging him to finish the drink and relax. Legolas obeyed slowly, was lulled by both the drug and Aragorn's deep soft voice. "Sleep..."

**

_Sleep..._

"I am asleep..." he whispered.

He knew that voice. That murmur, and it was a loved one. It was near...real, for a moment. It was a comfort. He opened his eyes slightly. Warm arms draped around him...he was safe. There was a smile, deep eyes... Smiling at him.

"Egil..."

"Sch..." The murmur, it was soothing and soft. A finger put across his lips and silenced him. "Sleep, _meleth_. Sleep..."

He buried in his lover's embrace. He did not want to sleep, he did not want this wonderful dream to slip away. Egil's voice was still murmuring in his ear, soft nonsense, a warm hand stoking his round stomach.

He did not want to leave.

"Do not leave me..."

This time... This time he lay there, held him, close, safe. He did not leave.

**

Aragorn waited until Legolas was soundly asleep, resting comfortably against his shoulder, before he gently lifted his friend and carried him out of the room, down the corridor and into the previous chambers. Careful not to wake him up. It was dark now, but he managed to lower the elf onto the bed without having him stirring or reacting. The elf slept while the ranger pulled covers around him.

Aragorn froze when he stepped into something cool and wet. And then his foot touched the wooden cup lying on the floor. Some small mess the elf had left after himself, without even telling. Or, maybe he had wanted to mention it earlier... 'Ai, damn this elf,' he thought as he went to find some towels, giving a last glance at the peacefully sleeping elf. Never before o the journey, he had seen Legolas' face so relaxed. 'He will be the end of me.'

----

_**Author's note:** Not so much action here... I'm afraid I'm going to bore you out soon!_

_**Elvish (Sindarin unless marked with a Q; those are in Quenya):**_

_Estel – Hope (One of Aragorn's many names)  
Thand, ni si – Yes(True), I am here  
Ce maer? – Are you good?  
Maer – good  
Aníron...ai, aníron – I desire... ah, I desire_

_Le aníron, pen vain vuin – I desire you, dear beautiful one_

_A le melon, pen vain vuin – And I love you, dear beautiful one  
Avo 'osto – Fear not_

_Ni si – I am here  
Le melon, pen vain vuin – I love you, dear beautiful one  
A linnon am meleth vîn... - And I sing for our love...  
Posto – Rest_

_Mellon vuin – dear friend  
Meleth - love_

_**Review Answers:**_

_glostarz: Thank you thank you! Glad you like this! You're a brilliant reader you know :). There's not only Legolas' pregancny and all that to think about... They gotta go to Gondor and fight sometime...Master the Rohirrim! Hopes Théoden agrees going there this time. And then there's the Path of the Dead, oh my..._

_mikinyet: No, nope he isn't. Soon the King of Rohan must know... Maybe there's a talker among the nurses and healers... Oh he must answer so many questiosn this time! But at least Merry knows now.._

_Nomad Princess: Thanks for reading :) I don't think I'm really clear of when and where Legolas will go into labor... Damn that scene will be hard to write! But I'll do my best, mate ;)_

Shayna-hp_: Oh thanks for hearing from you again :D Happy you liked these last chapters! I must get more action soon though... As for teh child ... I think I'm t deeply in love with Legolas' belly to harm it (too much)!_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's note: **Sorry I took some time updating. I think my muse tries to sneak away. But I'll do my best catching it and not ever putting this on writer's block! _

_I may have done some changes according to Legolas' appearance. By now you must have realized I have used much of I from the movie – my Legolas is blonde, and blue-eyed. (But that does not mean he has Orlando-the-elf's face. That's up to your imagination). But I have made his haircut longer, elves should have really long hair! _

**-----**

**Chapter 17**

-----

There was warmth... Soft blankets around him... He awoke slowly. Murmuring voices took him from his worlds of dreams, from Egil's arms. Still he remembered so clearly Egil's smile, his eyes.

He was proud. Proud, of him, of their child...

He recognized those voices... There was Gimli's, and Aragorn's...and Merry's. Yes, the halfling had been there in the room, asleep, next to Gimli. He did not hear what they spoke of. He lay there dozing for a while, it was relaxing. He felt so sleepy, he felt like he could lay here for the rest of the day and just sleep...

"Awake now are we?" Gimli said. "Sadly, I believe a certain hobbit has eaten all the breakfast."

"Actually, that's second breakfast," Merry's voice floated to his ears, corrected the dwarf. "And no, there's still some left...I think..." He heard the clinkering of plates and bowls and spoons, light footsteps walking over wooden floor. Slowly he cracked open his eyes. It was light in the room. He was back in the bedroom he had been earlier, he realized. Aragorn must have brought him here, after he had fallen asleep...and someone must have taken care of the mess he had caused on the floor, water everywhere...

The bed creaked slightly and he felt the mattress sink under the dwarf's weight when Gimli settled on his left side. Or perhaps it was the right... he was not so sure. When the dwarf made to shake him awake, he pulled the covers around himself and over his head like a stubborn child.

"Wake up, elf. You seem quite lazy today."

Legolas could not suppress a yawn and a tired sigh. "_Gwanno...ereb nin..._" The whine could not be left out from his tone.

Aragorn laughed softly, while Gimli's expression was dismayed. "Let him be, Gimli," the ranger advised. He had seen Legolas in many moods before, himself being the cause many a time as well, and he knew that Legolas irritation would turn into anger if it went too far. And Legolas was an elf, a warrior elf, which meant that even if tired he could fight and they needed Gimli whole – he had a feeling something larger yet would be in store. "Come eat before Merry steals your breakfast."

"_Second_ breakfast, Strider. It is second," Merry corrected again, walking over and placing a bowl of soup on the bedside table. He figured Legolas would be hungry and need it once he woke up. Or wanted to wake up. He had never seen the elf like tis before, this ... tired. And disobedient - usually he kept silent an done what Aragorn said, the ranger was their leader after all. And relaxed, not with so many barriers... Maybe this was more like Legolas as a friend, not as Legolas the warrior. He figured that his pregnancy also help a part of it.

Legolas lay there dozing and listening sleepily as his friends talked, ate, and joked about each other. His friends... Yes, they were his friends. Something good, something he had missed when Elladan and Elrohir had left Mirkwood – friends. But he had them... And it was well. Slowly, he yawned and stretched gracefully like a cat, trying to wash away this fatigue. Joining his friends by the table set up in the room, he tasted the bowl with stew that Merry had put forth. It was very good... Perhaps it had used a 'hobbit hand', he was sure all hobbits could cook great meals, no matter the hour, or depending on their mood, or where they were. When he asked, Merry murmured something about 'Sam and the tatoes', and said that he had done it himself. With a little help then, from Gimli – Gimli! Oh, this he had to ask about later.

They talked, but Aragorn and Gimli, they avoided... Legolas knew what they avoided. Him. In a way. He had thought that once his secret was told, he would never be left alone without being loudly reminded of his pregnancy, but so was not the case now. They gave no indicator they were angry or uncomfortable about it.... But not if they approved it either. No today they talked about everyday things, trying to find something in common and things uncommon.

'Why are they not asking?' he thought. 'And has Merry been told? Maybe that is it. He does not know.'

He grew uncomfortable thinking that he must tell the halfling as well. It wasn't that he disliked the hobbit, the halfling was an odd but good creature, no, but this subject... Merry would not think it normal, would he? Or was this strange treat seen among halflings as well? He doubted that. Doubted that highly.

Rays of the morning sun found its way through the window, fell on him and his comrades where they sat by the table. The warmth against his back was not uncomfortable, it felt relaxing in some way, and he could vaguely remember the dream he had just been in – with Egil... Shaking his head, he tried to push that aside. Why was it so that he always fell back in thought?

"How do you do it?"

At the sudden voice he raised his eyebrows at the hobbit. "What?" he asked, confused.

"Your hair," Merry explained gesturing at the elf's head crowned with golden strands. "It is like ... glowing. And it is always perfect even after fights and all that. The lasses back in the Shire would do anything to have hair like that. But curly, though," he added in afterthought. He had been thinking of Legolas' hair since second breakfast started – it was always fine and braided. And it was so long, almost to the elf's hips; was it not in the way while in battle? And now in the sun it was glowing. When at night the whole elf had appeared glowing... Aragorn had explained that when elves did not, they were dying or seriously wounded or ill... That was really odd for the halfling. Merry knew he would be uncomfortable if he was glowing.

To the other's amusement, Legolas still looked slightly confused. "Elves has hair like that," he said. "It is nothing strange with that."

"Not for you, it isn't," Gimli said across the table. "You are an elf. Elves are strange people."

Merry's curiosity was not sated. "But isn't it in the way when you are battling with orcs?" he asked.

"I have never experienced trouble in fighting," Legolas said, politely ignoring the pointing look Aragorn gave him. "What is so special about it? It is just ... hair." He shrugged and finished the soup.

"Glowing hair," Merry corrected but did not ask more about it. The elf did not seem to know so much. Or he did not want to speak about it. He had this faraway look in his eyes... He buried in his meal again. Now when the battles seemed over for a time, at least here, there was no time to waste – there was food on the table, good drinks and smoke to be have.

After some time, Legolas insisted that they should go outside, enjoy the fresh air. Gimli protested, too much sun would be bad on the skin, and it would have been much better had they been in Helm's Deep in the Glittering Caves. Then they would not have needed to go outside for a time yet! But he followed them outside.

As always, it was blowing, from gentle breezes to cold strong winds. They seated on a terrace by the side of the palace, ate and drank the last of the breakfast – second breakfast – and the hobbit, the man and the dwarf then settled to smoke. They had chosen a stop where the winds were not as strong. Yet, they cursed when smoke became impossible. Only Legolas appeared pleased, smirking at Gimli in a non-elven fashion.

They sat in silence for a while, but Gimli was the first to rise saying he would go back inside to a nice calm corner and smoke. Clear his mind. After a while, Aragorn followed suit. That left the elf and the halfling. Legolas felt Merry's eyes on him again. He tried to ignore it, as if he knew not of the gaze, but Merry knew that the elf knew he watched. With a defeated sigh, the elf turned to him and expected to be asked about something again. His hair maybe, or...

_Does he know? About ...?_

To his surprise, the halfling edged closer and said softly. "Aragorn told me. About..." He blushed.

Legolas' eyes went wide and he managed a small, "Oh."

"And... There were others in the room," Merry said, "when he told it."

"_What_?" Legolas suddenly exploded. The halfling did not flinch, but he looked slightly confused. He had not seen Legolas angry before. Well, he had_ heard _Legolas angry before_, _but that was another thing which he could not tell yet.

"Don't worry, they were only a few, a handful maybe... They would not tell anyone I'm sure!" he quickly said and his gaze jumped between the elf's face, which was slightly flushed, and the horizon behind him. Maybe he shouldn't have said that, about the others. But, Legolas should know. And he was not happy.

Legolas' face suddenly softened slightly but not his eyes. "I am going to kill him," the elf muttered under his breath. "I am really going to kill him."

Merry's gaze focused on something then, in the horizon. It was changing. Something was ... growing, something yellow... among the mountains. "Hey, what is that?" he asked pointing, managing to steal the elf's attention to where he was directing and from the conversation.

Legolas turned his head, narrowed his eyes. Yes, there was something... Then realization hit him, and his eyes widened. There was a fire lit. A beacon, there, upon the mountain tip.

"The beacons!" he gasped and sprang to his feet. He had heard of those in tales, the system of calls for aid between Rohan and Gondor. "They are lit!"

Merry stared at the elf in surprise when Legolas came to his feet in an instant and ran. What...? He quickly stood and followed as fast as he could on his short legs. When the elf entered the Golden Halls he lost sight of him. All he knew was that something was wrong.

---

When Aragorn was talking with the King, Gimli watched and smoked. The ranger was trying to pursue Théoden to go to war, assemble an army of Rohan for Gondor's aid. They would need it. Any time now, a call of aid would come, he was sure of that. But the King did not answer.

The door of the hall opened wide and when Legolas came running inside his feet made no sound. Gimli almost swallowed his pipe in surprise.

"The Beacons of Minas Tirith!" the elf cried. "The beacons are lit!" When he stopped in front of the throne without making any indicator of showing respect, no nod or bow, he was almost breathless. As of late, running just down a corridor took his breath away. Aragorn's eyes widened when hearing the words from the elf's mouth. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Aragorn left the King's side, casting a worried look at the elf and coming to his side. The elf reused to be helped sit down, that Aragorn silently bade him. He would not sit and rest just by running some hundred ells that was from the terrace to here. The King needed to answer! But Théoden sat silent.

That moment, Éowyn and her brother came to the throne's side. They had heard the gate open loudly, and the a cry from a voice that never before in their presence had cried. They gave their uncle a pleading look, while Aragorn's and Legolas' were stern. In the corner of the room, Gimli was coughing slightly, putting away his pipe. Small steps were heard and Merry came rushing inside, out of breath, through the still open door.

Finally the King stood. "And Rohan shall answer!" he said with the voice of a King and leader. He looked at Éomer. "Muster the Rohirrim." The man, as usual already wearing armor and sword at his side, nodded in answer.

----

After the King and his niece had left, Legolas turned to Aragorn and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a corner where they were not any people. Though, some were glancing at them ... It was unsettling. The man seemed to know what he wanted, and sighed and shook his head. "I am sorry for not asking, before I told Merry," the man said.

"With others there!" Legolas said in a low tone. He was mad, angry. But also... afraid. And worried. Now that some others knew, people that he did not know the face of, had never heard of.... could they somehow spread the news to others? Yes, yes they could. The King here could find out, or maybe Éomer and his sister – they could spread the news to his father... They could, could they not? There or to some other realms of men, or elves.

"I am sorry! I did not think that they were listening," the man confessed holding up his hands in a sign of peace. Legolas' face held a dangerous expression. " I must admit I might not have been thinking, but it was unfair to Merry if he could not be told as well."

Legolas looked on the ground. "That is what Gandalf told me as well," he murmured with a sigh. "Why could you just not let it be?"

"We are a Fellowship. We are friends. They do not keep secrets from each others, at least not any such as this!" the man retorted, but not angrily. Just with a tinge of disappointment. His tone changed then, and his voice lowered. "Whom else has you not told, Legolas?" he murmured. "Does your father know?"

Legolas' chest clenched at the mention. "That is none of your business," he bit back and moved to leave. Aragorn hesitated, but let him go. He would talk with him later.

-----

First he went to his and Gimli's chambers, to pack his little belongings. Actually, there was no need to pack anything. He had just his cloak and his weapons. He changed clothes, from the white shirt that probably Aragorn had borrowed for him to his old shirt and tunic. They had been mended, he saw, he could see signs of stitches on them were he had been wounded. Also Aragorn's work... That was the ranger's way. Do things silently. Gimli's ways were not...

When walking to the stables to fetch Arod, he met said dwarf. Around them people were busting about their business, preparing their horses and getting armored. They were preparing for battle yet again. Gimli looked dismayed when he realized they had to ride again. There was no time to loose.

And even more dismayed, when he saw the elf armed. "You are not planning to fight, are ye?" he said once they had reached Arod's stable.

"Why not?" Legolas demanded, looking up from where he was saddling the horse. "I am a warrior, of course I will fight!"

"We'll see about that later," the dwarf said, mostly to himself. Aragorn was not going to be pleased about this. No way he would let Legolas fight. "We'll see about that."

It would be a long and hard ride, and they had to do is swiftly. They would make camp at Duneharrow, the King had decided, where warriors with their horses not only from Edoras but from the whole Rohan would gather. But they were too few... Legolas was sure they were too few. They had been three hundred in Helm's Deep and lost many there. Maybe they could gather a strength of a few thousand, but not more. Never so many as the armies of Sauron...

With those odds it was hopeless. But at least they would do anything they could do fight back the dark forces.

He led with Gimli on his side Arod outside, to find Merry and Aragorn. Gimli insisted Legolas would stay at the same spot watching the horse as he instead went to find the two. Never he would stay alone with the horse, that 'big hairy beast'. Legolas could not hold back a chuckle, which was answered with a glare.

The horse felt all this energy around him. Something great was going on. It felt like when his masters and he left for Helm's Deep, when they battled there – they were going to war. He gently poked the elf's cheek, whining softly. He was growing impatient. "There, there," Legolas murmured, realizing the horse's demeanor. "_Goheno nîn, mellon,_" he murmured and stroke Arod's mane. The horse was not soothed._ "Lye nuqueruva heir rato..._" He started murmur in the horse's ear, and slowly the animal calmed. He had missed this, the presence of the steed. The horse was genuine in the way only an animal can be. The horse started sniffing the elf in search for something to eat instead, disappointed when he found none. When Arod's nose bumped his stomach Legolas flinched, but did not move away. Arod was more intelligent than was taken for, he seemed to know that his master, the elf, was in a dilemma that troubled him, and that he carried a new life within his body.

Legolas looked up when he heard someone call his name. Or rather, "Master Elf!" So that must be him, anyway. But whom of his friends would not call him by name by now?

Éomer appeared, leading his horse, walking towards him. Legolas nodded in greeting, pulling slightly at his tunic at the same time. He had adjusted it as of late, so that it fit more loosely on his frame, which was not so slim anymore. "Lord Éomer," he greeted.

The man smiled. "I wondered if perhaps you and your friend Master Gimli wishes to ride by my side to Duneharrow," he said.

Legolas smiled politely in return, but felt uncomfortable and did not look the man in the eyes. He had hoped that he could ride alone with Gimli, maybe talk to him. Still he had to help Gimli let the information of his pregnancy sink in and let him accept it – the dwarf had not spoke of it since he found out... But how could he decline without the man taking it as an offense? He could not. The memory of almost killing the man still was fresh in his mind. And in Éomer's, surely. "It would be an honor, my lord," he responded.

Éomer appeared pleased. When he kept looking at his face, not at his body or stomach, Legolas relaxed some. "I am pleased to hear that," the man said. "Bu please, call me Éomer. There should not be any titles between friends. Where is your friend Gimli then?" he asked.

'Friends. That must be some polite saying,' Legolas thought; 'we are not friends. We barely know one another.' "Gimli went to find Lord Aragorn," Legolas replied, "and the hobbit Meriadoc."

"He is an odd little creature, the halfling," the man said thoughtfully and fell into step with Legolas as they walked towards to where the King was gathered with his guards. "Just a few days ago, I thought his people legends, they were recited as being died out in old songs told by old wives...But legends come true with time, people says."

"Old wives are often wiser than many men," Legolas said, slight absently. Looking ahead he saw Gimli walking towards them, axe in hand. Not far behind was Merry on a small white pony to fit his size. "Though they take wisdom in word, than the kind of wisdom one have in action. I have seen that many of Men prepare the second rather than the first in these ill times."

Éomer looked at the elf in surprise. The elf's voice sounded older than his appearance. But, he probably was. "Do you mind asking, how old are you?" he asked.

Legolas gave the man a glance with furrowed eyebrows. How old... He had not thought about time and age that way for a time now. It was a matter he tired to push away; like many elves, if one counted the years, you could almost feel like collapsing by realizing how much time had floated by while you remained, at least outwardly, unchanged. "I am yet young, by the ways of my people," he

said after a pause. "But I have seen leaves fall in my homeland countless times, and seen trees grow from the acorn to old trees with hollow stocks." He looked at Éomer. "I have not thought of age for a long time, but I believe in your ways of counting I would be ..." Counting quickly in his head, he said; "...some two thousand years, I believe."

Éomer's eyes grew wide. Still this concept, immortality and long lives, was strange to him. "But you look awfully young," he exclaimed. "Like one of not more twenty summers."

Legolas gave a small smile. "I guess that in my people's eyes, I am younger still. My brother...he was born several centuries before I." He realized silently that if human years had been as long as elven, he would still not be even twenty. Men must have so short lives... It was strange, that when he was come of age at fifty, a Man would have been near the end of his life. The exception was the Dunadain, of course, Aragorn's kin, who were blessed with long life. Aragorn was young, yet so old...

Gimli reached the pair then and gave a nod at Éomer and a glare at Legolas. "I missed Aragorn just by a minute," the dwarf said. "He was on his way to the stables. But I am not going near it, too many of those reckless beasts. No offense milord Éomer," he added with a glance at the Horse lord.

Legolas chuckled slightly, causing Gimli to look more annoyed. "But at least Merry was found. He has gotten an own pony, now. It is getting worse."

-----

They sat out within the hour. Legolas and Gimli rode beside Éomer as promised. Aragorn was just ahead with king Théoden at his side and also, to their surprise, lady Éowyn. Legolas assumed she would follow to camp. He could actually recognize himself within her – her fire and strength, her stubbornness, her wish to go to battle against everyone's wills and customs. Like he were, had been before at least – the young Prince that disobeyed his father's orders. As he was an only heir, his father had always forbidden him to partake any fights and battles. Now, oh, he would be o furious. He _was _furious.

He wondered what h had done – had he sent out riders to find him? Messengers to every near realm? Had he heard of his part of the Fellowship and Quest through Lord Elrond? Had he...?

'Don't think of it,' he told himself. 'Not now.'

Later.

He wondered who those people were, those who knew his secret, and if they had told the King or would tell him. He hoped... He was not so sure what he hoped, if they did or not.

_----_

_**Author's note:** Okay, you see I have changed Legolas' age here. Not because we know it; Tolkien did not tell his age. But it's not his 'movie-age', I came up with it myself. So I don't say it's right or wrong. Sorry I did not get so much action here, but soon... _

_**Elvish** (**Q** – Quenya, **S** – Sindarin, **G** – Grevlish [non-Tolkien]):_

_Gwanno ereb nin, **S **– Leave me alone_

_Goheno nîn, mellon**, S **- Forgive me, friend_

_Lye nuqueruva heir rato, **S/G** – We will leave soon [The only Sindarin word in this phrase is 'heir', 'leave'. Sorry for the mix of languages. The rest is Grelvish, which I do not appreciate, but I found no other alternative of words. Hope it does not bother...]_

_**Review answers:**_

_Shayna-hp: Yes, I think the whole Legolas and Egil relation was (and is) a sad story...as it is a secret one, they could not tell anybody... Glad you like this!_

_glostarz: Thanks for the review! No, I think they are going to *kill* him if he fights with 'the bump'! Well, hope they are not too harsh on giving punishments for disobeying... But Merry likes the bump, and when Pippin finds out...and Sam and Frodo (if they does) ... lol. I have counted some, so now I am quite sure about when he will give birth. As elves are pregnant 12 months, then the child with be born about the same day he got pregnant... But I won't reveal too much yet! (and no, not the child's name either :P )_

_Nomad Princess: We love Legolas' bump! I think we'll write a song about it someday, lol :D I am no so sure really about when a child moves for the first time in a pregnancy so I guessed pretty much.... Happy you read and review!_

_mikinyet: About the drug, Legolas was tired and for once realized he needed to sleep... And was kinda lulled into it (if one can say so) by Aragorn... Well, he slept didn't he! At least Aragorn is more pleased now. Wonder how long that will last.... Once he finds out Legolas wants to fight as well at the Pelennor Fields!_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Author's note**: So here we are, yet another chapter! Not the battle yet, I'm afraid, but pretty close! Thanks to all who've read and reviewed the latest chapter. You find answers at the bottom of chapter, as usual.  
For you who wonder how I learned the elvish, see the review answers. Elinka, I've answered your question :)_

_**New author's note**: To learn better (gramatically) elvish, to go dreamingfifi's profile. She has helped me some to correct my elvish._

**----  
Chapter 18  
----**

It took them two days to reach Duneharrow; they would only stay a day to wait for the men from different parts of Rohan to gather there, count how many spears they had – then, they would ride to Gondor, and war.

Legolas felt more and more tension build among the men and horses as they traveled. Even Merry and Gimli were affected by it, they were not as talkative and were not jesting; they sat often quiet. Gimli would end almost every one of their banters in silence before they even could be called a banter. Aragorn was tense. Legolas knew why – they were going to Gondor, and soon, Aragorn had to meet his destiny and become king. It was what Fate had decided... but the man was yet a free spirit; whole his life he had roamed and now, he would he tied to a land where he had not been for many years. A land that was at war.

And what if we loose the battle? Legolas thought. What of the world then? The elves would sail, they were sailing, fleeing. But the Men, and the halflings, and the dwarves... They would die, they would die as slaves of the Dark one. If not Frodo...

They had not heard a word of Frodo in a very long time. All Gandalf had managed to tell them by the time he left with Pippin was that Frodo was alive. Frodo was alive. All they could do was to fight and hope. Legolas knew he had to fight. He could not let his child be born in a world of war and darkness.

Gently kicking his heels in Arod's sides, Legolas felt the horse quicken its steps to fall in beside Hausfeld, Aragorn's steed. Though he felt more tense around the man now that he yet again had to be confronted sometime by him, tell him of his father...the marriage, the secret lover... Aragorn did not ask yet, and was still his friend. Yes, they were friends, brothers; like he was friends with Gimli as well, and that was what held him back from trying to flee again. He was at least for now, safe.

-----

When they reached Duneharrow, the sun was as highest on the sky. By the foot of a great mountain massive, a large camp had been set up. Tents, men, horses. They were hundreds and more and more came by every moment. But they had not much time...

Legolas felt many surprised eyes at him, just like when he had entered Edoras and Helm's Deep, when they rode into camp, the king Théoden in front. Of course they stared – an elf, and also was there a dwarf! And beside the two on a small pony was a small creature who had the face of a beardless adult man, though he was short as a child of no more than eight summers. A halfling, a tale.

They were given tents of their own. Legolas and Gimli had to share and Merry did not wish to be alone so he appointed to Aragorn's. The man did not mind. It was better than having the hobbit lost among the thousand Men that were gathering. When said man and hobbit were lost from sight, going to do their own business, Legolas secured Arod next to Hausfeld, making sure the horses did not run away. They did not stand still and calm, their ears were twitching and they stomped in the ground with their hooves. "There, there," Legolas murmured softly, stroking both their large heads. "Do not be upset. There is no danger here..."

Gimli narrowed his eyes at the elf. "Restless are they, eh?" he asked.

Legolas turned his head, his hand still resting on Arod's head. The horse slowly calmed by the elf's soft words and touch, but his kin around them did not. They were nervous. "It is the shadow of the mountain," Legolas explained, nodding his head towards the large cliff not far from their tent. It was divided, leading into a shadowed place, from where cold winds always blew. The men were afraid of it, as were the horses. This place was old and many myths were told of it – some that reached the ears of the elves.

But apparently not the dwarves. But nevertheless Gimli did not like it. It had a chilling air about it. "That road there," Gimli asked slowly, "where does it lead?"

"It is the way to Dimholt, the road under the Mountain," Legolas said, softening his voice like he was fearing to utter the words: "It is the road to the Dead, Gimli. The Path of the Dead."

A shiver worked down Gimli's spine. The Path of the Dead? It sounded dreadful, not at all like a name in the taste of Men. "That does not sound like a place I'd like to visit in a while," Gimli said. "Come Legolas, let us go somewhere else where that gateway is not so in sight." He was not afraid of it, just unsettled. Not afraid. If he said he was afraid, the elf would never give it up – a dwarf afraid of a mountain! So no, he was not afraid in any way.

Legolas stroke his fingers through Arod's pale mane one last time before they left. Their steps took them to their tent, and they went to inspect it. It was simple, but the King must have told his men that he had certain guests with him, because it was large and held beds, not just simple blankets. When he told Gimli that this was unnecessary, they were only here to rest a day and a night anyway, the dwarf humphed. "You know that I'm not letting you fight, right?"

Legolas gave him a heated glare. "Since when did you take command over me?"

"Since I realized you were too much a fool to take care of yourself, I guess," the dwarf said with a smirk and took up his pipe This was probably the last chance in a long time to smoke. When the gray smoke rose from where Gimli had settled himself on a bed, Legolas waved a hand across his face.

Resigned, Legolas realized arguing about it with Gimli would not help. Instead, he sat down as well, across the dwarf on the other bed. "Why do you always keep on doing that?" he demanded, gesturing at his friend's pipe. "It cannot be healthy."

"Old habit die hard, laddie," Gimli said. "But you always have Arod to talk to if you wish to speak to people not smoking. Or, rather, beasts not smoking."

Legolas glowered at him while he removed his weapons and put them aside. It was always strange now, after this long journey, to remove the familiar light weight against his back, the smooth wooden bow in his hand, the grip of a weapon in the other. It was baring himself, but for a while now, he wanted to be rid of reminders of war, strip off these layers ... But the worry was still there. A worry...of...of what? _Getting caught,_ his mind supplied. _You are so afraid, are you not, so weak. Afraid of getting caught._

Aragorn entered the tent that moment. His face was deep and serious. The something that had been on his mind for so long now ... Legolas wanted to know what it was but by the man's eyes full of expression told him that he would not tell anything. He took seat next to the elf, ignoring the glare sent to him by said companion when he, too, took forth his pipe.

Silence had fell between them now, the three friends. But now, Legolas felt it unnerving. He was tensing. His back was aching slightly, a tingle in his muscles. He did not like this.

Finally he turned to look at Aragorn. "Something is troubling your mind, my friend," he said.

Aragorn sighed tiredly. That moment, he looked if this was a hopeless situation, there was no solution, no rescue. "The Dark Army...They are too many," he said. "And the people from Rohan too few. We will never be enough to strike Mordor's front."

"More comes every hour," Gimli said between huffs of smoke.

"By every hour the enemy comes closer to Minas Tirith!" Aragorn stood and began to pace, but the tent was too small to get more than three steps forward and three steps back, and it trapped him even more. "By the time we reach the city perhaps it is already lost! We cannot win this battle, we will go there for nothing. All will be lost!" He sank down on the ground with his head in his hands.

"We will win," Legolas murmured softly, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezing gently. "We must have hope."

"For once the elf has some common sense," Gimli said. "We'll beat them, laddie," he said to Aragorn and patted the man's back. "Don not worry, we'll beat them."

A small soft smile graced Legolas' lips. "You have your friends, Aragorn."

"Aye, that he has," the dwarf confirmed, putting away his pipe. "And he is lucky for that. I believe that we make an excellent team." His words made Aragorn look up and even though there was still lines of tensions on his face, he was grinning and his shoulders not slumping so anymore.

A thought crossed his mind – would Legolas planning of fighting? Of course he was. He was a warrior, a stubborn one... He would need to speak with him of it later. Legolas could not go out and fight in his condition! It could harm the child...or him...or worse... But the elf's soft smile pushed away such thoughts.

"Yes," he murmured. "Maybe I am lucky."

The elf's smile did not reach his eyes.

----

When Aragorn left to find Merry it was nightfall. Legolas and Gimli left the tent for some time as well, walking around with no direction and nowhere to go. There was no one there who knew them or they knew. Legolas excused himself, making it across the large camp toward the tent, ignoring the curious looks the Men around him gave him. Tried to, at least. But then and now he kept glancing at them, their shadows lit by fires and torches...He was afraid, afraid they could see... But, he guessed that his swell was visible for the one who looked now.

He could sleep, he decided. Go back and sleep. Gather strength when time allowed rest.

Some halfway to his and Gimli's tent he could hear, to his surprise, Éowyn's voice, calling out. Was she here? Maybe it was a tradition, for the women of the court to follow here to say goodbye to the men, wish them good luck. They would need it...

The young hobbit Merry, dressed in a slightly too large helmet and a light armor that only covered his upper body, hurried past. Legolas glimpsed him between the groups of men and tents and horses before he disappeared. He had a feeling that Aragorn would not allow the halfling into fight. Maybe it was not that he saw the hobbit as weak or too young – it was something driven out of desperation to keep something innocent in this world.

It was too warm in here. He removed his tunic and cloak and took off his boots, placing them by the foot of the bed next to his weapons. He settled himself to sleep but found no rest. He just lay there and stared at the tent's ceiling, too many thoughts in his mind. What should he do now? Or once the war was over? And...should he ignore Gimli's commands and follow into battle anyway? Yes, yes tat he should, he decided. He was not weak! He would not just be left behind like this! Or maybe, he should go into battle in disguise – let Aragorn and Gimli leave with Théoden, while he waited and followed behind. And then, maybe he should speak with Merry... they would not let the halfling come with them. Maybe he and Merry could ride together...

It was too warm. He pushed away the blankets, maybe Gimli would rather have them when he came back – or he'd need them later tonight, when he found the air too cold.

Long moments passed before he could drift off, and first he fell down into a soft black blanket. But it was not too warm, not too cold. There was nothing here. There was just a little peace, and that soothed him.

**

_Darkness._

Warm, soft...it was like under the covers where he had hide on early mornings as young....refusing to wake up....

He refused to wake up.

Rested, slowly...

There were no sounds.

Just nothing.

Not until something...a presence...in his mind. It was not a dark one. Something appeared in the darkness, a face... He only vaguely remembered it. And there was another, a strongly familiar one – and voices, but he heard not the words. The unrecognizable figure lifted a weapon from under his dark cloak. Firelight reflected his face...he remembered it now, he knew who he was...but then he was unrecognizable again.

The fire instead reflected Estel's face and his dark head was covered with while pearls, like the crown of a king, and he held a blade in his hand.

_'...Renewed shall be the blade that was broken,  
the crownless again shall be king...'_

The words came from a mouth he did not see but the words were so familiar to him now...and the voice...he recognized now...it was...must be-

_Fire._

It flared up around him and burned him. Took him and hurt. Help, help! But there was no aid, no answer of his cries. Stop!

There was a laugh, like echoing in a cave made by hundred of twisted voices. There were no longer any faces there, the Sword was gone and Estel was gone, as were his crown of glittering pearls. He screamed.

It echoed back at him.

A large Eye of fire grew and took up his whole vision. The Eye of fire with no brows and no edges, and in its middle was a deep great blackness.

It changed, rippled like water.

There was a dying laughter, a small giggle. For a moment, he could see the face of a child.

He screamed again and tried to reach out but had no limbs. The child was gone, replaced by a familiar face. Too real and too familliar.

Twisted in pain. A voice called for him. fading away...

"Legolas! Legolas! Legolas!"

_Egil._

In his lover's dying eyes he saw a white city of stone that flared up in fire and the cries of thousand dying people drowned in his ears.

Help! they cried. They came...the fire came to harm him, and the babe in his body. Help!

There was no help.

**

A small cry left his lips, but it died in breathless gasps. He awoke sweating, and he felt his shirt glued to his body. That dream had been close and alive. He definitely could not sleep now. He sat up and tried to regain his breath, to control his trembling body. When he stood, his legs were shaking and gave in – he sank down but not to the ground or on the bed, but into someone's arms.

Unfamiliar arms. There was a scent he did not recognize, words he could not make out, and he saw not the speaker's face. His whole body tensed like a bowstring.

The speaker's voice turned worried. "Legolas? Are you all right?"

Wait... He knew that voice. He spun around, from the grip. "My lord Éomer!" he gasped and tired to gain his voice, to not make it sound to trembling. His heart beat so loud in his chest he was sure the man heard it as well. It hurt. "I did not know...you where here..." He failed. His voice was so weak, his throat so dry. If Éomer was here, it meant he must have somehow known...He had screamed in the dream. Had he screamed in reality as well?

He let the man help him sit. He felt too weak to protest. He accepted the cup of water given too him. It was not tasting good, but he drank it in one go anyway.

"What happened?" Éomer wanted to know as he put away the cup. "Should I fetch Lord Aragorn or Master Gimli?"

"That is not necessary," Legolas answered softly, shaking his head. He did not wish Aragorn or Gimli to know about this, it would only stress them. And Aragorn did not know about the dreams yet... "It was nothing, just a dream." His tone gave away his wishes to be left alone. The man's presence was comforting but also strange, it was not familiar...

Éomer frowned and did maybe not believe it, but did not show it in that case. He just nodded and stood. "Very well... I will take my leave now. I wish you a good night, Legolas." With that he left. The tent opened slightly more by the wind, air carried inside. It bit the elf's sensitive skin.

Legolas sat there and did not know what to do. Maybe he should go back to sleep... No, then the dreams...Or find Gimli. He glanced at the bed next to his. It was empty and untouched. Where could the dwarf be?

He put on his tunic and boots, hestiated a moment before he also took his weapons and cloak. It was cold outside. And weapons...Protection. He needed protection. A second skin.

Maybe he was just being silly. It was just nightmares. 'Living nightmares', he thought and strapped the quiver on his back.

Outside it was darker now. Quieter. Less people busting about. The horses were restless now, whining softly as he passed. He murmured in his own tongue to them, laying a hand on their heads, and they calmed some. But only some, not more. Their masters were surely resting now, asleep...to be ready for the long ride and fight ahead.

But a sound drifted to his ears. Following it he soon saw a large fire and opened tents and heard voices, hushed slightly. Murmuring, talking, singing... What was this? He walked into the open area, stood by the edge, and watched the scene.

There was Gimli and Gamling, or he thought so was the man's name, and several other men. The dwarf lifted the cup to his lips and looked up. He raised the cup in greeting before he drank. Legolas nodded in answer, coming closer. He had a bad feeling about this... Gimli could not seriously be drinking now! With his ability to hold his liquor! And the upcoming battle!

Catching the elf's expression, Gimli excused himself and walked over to the elf. The men behind seemed disappointed, but Legolas did not care. "Were you having a drinking game?" the elf asked his friend. "Did you even think about that tomorrow, we will leave at dawn and ride without a pause. And without waiting for dwarves with hangovers," he added.

Gimli gave him a friendly glare. "I was not having drinking games, _mother,_" he said, stressing the last word clearly. Legolas shot him a deadly glare. It looks could kill, there would not be much left of the dwarf right now. "And dwarves do not get hangovers."

Really? What was that in Edoras then, after celebrating with that unfamiliar man?" Legolas asked. "What do you call that? Or perhaps you cannot recall such events?" he asked managing to sound both sarcastic and polite at the same time.

"Damned elf!" Gimli cursed at Legolas' raised eyebrows as he usually did. "That was no hangover. It was...merely...an investigation of ... the aftermaths of having good drinks...It was actually a quite pleasant morning until you came inside screaming and crashing vases."

"A pleasant hangover? _Ai Eru_, save me from this dwarf, he is the strangest thing I have ever met," Legolas said. "And, might I add, it was not morning, it was in the middle of the night."

"You damned ... thick-headed ... witless ... pointy-eared ... rascal _... elf_! It was not a hangover!" He said the last indicating each word clearly.

The dwarf's words were met by chuckle growing into a laugh; Legolas had to cover his mouth with his hand to not disturb any sleepers in the tents they passed. It was a real laugh that began deep in his chest and spread to his toes, and it felt good. The dream he had had earlier was forgotten now. Gimli stopped and crossed his arms, glaring, trying to look serious. He failed after a while and fell into the laughter as well, his deeper voice a contrast to the elf's.

When finally regaining his breath, his voice was still trembling with laughter. "Hush my friend!" Legolas said softly. "We do not wish to wake any riders. Though, if men sleeps as heavily as dwarves, that would probably not matter even if we were screaming, but..." His voice bubbled up in silent laughter again when Gimli began grumbling anew. This time it was in Dwarfish though, so Legolas could not understand any words. But he guessed that not more than half of them were friendly. Maybe it was all a long dwarven curse.

They had just walked some fifty feet more, when they heard soft sounds of hooves moving on wet soil. At least, Legolas heard. He patted his friend's shoulder and nodded ahead. Aragorn appeared from the shadows, his horse by his side.

He was leaving. That moment Legolas made his decision: he would not let Aragorn leave without him. Gimli would not do anything but come with the man whatever he thought.

"Where are you going?" the dwarf asked suspiciously.

"I am leaving. I am not asking any of you to come with me," Aragorn said, glancing at Legolas. Legolas caught his eyes in a stubborn stare.

"Aye, but you are not leaving without me, laddie," Gimli said and walked up to Aragorn's side.

Aragorn gave the dwarf a stern look. "It will be a perilous road, with dangers we have not yet come to face."

"Pah! We will beat them like water on rock, laddie, whatever we face. Dwarves are stubborn, we. What is the road you speak of?"

"The Path of the Dead," the man answered flatly. Gimli shivered hearing this. It was a bad place. What would they do there...and where to go? Or was it a shorter road to Gondor? It did not sound good...

"I will come with you," Legolas said then, taking opportunity when dwarf and man were silent.

Both heads turned to him. Aragorn shook his head. "It is too dangerous..."

Legolas felt suddenly angry again. What was he but merely something to push away when he was no longer useful. "Do not tell me what is dangerous!" he said sharply but tired to soften his voice. "I will come with you, if I so have to turn my arms to wings and fly after you."

"The lad is too stubborn for his own good," Gimli muttered under his breath. Suddenly he remembered clearly why Aragorn did not let the elf come with them. It had sunk in now, the elf's pregnancy. He was ready to believe it and accept it, more than ready now. He had not forgotten it, just ... not thought about it. Earlier, it had been natural...He or Legolas had not mentioned it. Legolas seemed comfortable with that.

Aragorn sighed. Legolas' tone had changed, to the one he used to command when in Mirkwood. He would not back down now. "Legolas...Ai, Legolas, you will be the death of me," he murmured mostly to himself and looked at the elf. And nodded. Legolas' eyes hoorayed, he had won tis time. 'Not next time', Aragorn promised himself. 'He might follow now...But I cannot let him fight in the battle...'

"Then let us fetch Arod," Gimli said. "For once I do not mind sharing the beast with the pointy-ear." He needed to keep an eye on that elf.

_----_

_**Author's note**: Hope you enjoyed that! Next chapter... the Path of the Dead... I am not so sure how they will manage that..._

_**Elvish:**_

_Ai Eru – Oh God_

_**Reviewers:**_

_glostarz: Hey! Thanks! Yeah, elves are hair-addicted people, they must be, but that's great! And the child will have hair. But I didn't say blond ... That would spoil it!_

_mikinyet: Thanks for another review! Thranduil must be furious and worried as hell right now. Wonder if Elrond has told him that Legolas has been off with the Fellowship or if that fact is kept secret even to the King of Mirkwood ..._

_Nomad Princess: See, he's a stubborn little rascal that disobeys dwarves, men, and elves. But still, we love him so that does not matter then does it? (And he's the sweetest little rascal on Arda) XD _

_Elinka: Ooh a new reader! Great! Usually don't read slash? I promise you, once you've started, you cannot resist it anymore...maybe you'll find out!... I learned the Elvish mostly from the net and from the books, of course. A great site for learning Elvish is this one: **www**(.)**arwen-undomiel**(.)**com** - check it out!_


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's note: **Here we are... At the dark path of the Dead... Poor Gimli, that's what I say. I have actually mixed in some book-verse with movie-verse here. But I have not either read the books or watched the movies in a while, so my memory might fail sometimes... Also, there is some from the Extended Edition DVD here, so can you call that spoilers? Okay, its some kind of spoilers for those who hasn't seen the Extended Edition (I don't have, actually, I have just seen some clips online at YouTube). But enjoy!_

_[ovoriel – I got a surprise for you in here. Just so you know it. But don't let me spoil it too fast for you now...]_

**---**

**Chapter 19**

**---**

Thranduil was furious. Legolas should have come back long ago: when sending a message to Imradis, Lord Elrond's answer was only: 'He is not here'. He is not here!

The Lord refused to tell him why he was gone and where he was. Had he run away? Maybe that was it – Legolas had run away. But why would he do such a thing? With his upcoming marriage...

His anger grew to worry. The marriage. Legolas was running away from the marriage.

'Alas, I should not have give him that opportunity go slip away', Thranduil thought. But when he gave his son the mission, it was not only for him a punishment for letting Gollum from his grasp, but also he had a chance to see the twins. His son was very fond of those two mischief-makers, something Thranduil generally did not like, but then it had appeared a good idea: let Legolas be from home for a short time and meet his friends. Maybe his sorrow over that elf's death ... Leir, Elir, Egil, whatever his name now had been ... would pass away.

But obviously, it had not.

Had he become mad, had he ran away and got lost? Or killed? Had he met orcs out there? His son was a warrior but not a careful one. Instead of waiting hours to make a plan, he made up a quick one at place and threw himself into battle. 'Ai, why could he not just be like his calm mother were?' he thought. His elfling was gone somewhere out there... And why had Lord Elrond not told him where his son was?

Sudden anger flared up within him. Elrond was not holding his son captured, was he? Then he shrunk back. No. Elrond's heart was too soft for that, and why start a war or a possible war with his neighbor and kin? In these times, surrounded by enemies from all sides... No...

If Legolas had met orcs, and not won the battle, he hoped he was dead rather than captured, tortured...

He must rather be dead.

----

Legolas felt Gimli grow nervous as they left camp behind, rode silently under the great shadow of the mountain. They were silent.

And the men that had gathered and stared after them were also silent, followed by spread murmurs. Why would they leave now, just before the battle? When someone called his name, Aragorn did not answer, but kept looking ahead and rode on. Soon they were lost from sight. They had entered a dark path. And now they could not turn back.

Still he was displeased with having Legolas with them. The elf was not safe here. And at the Paths of Dead...Where he had to summon the Dead, make them fulfill their pledge... Who knew what effect they could have on something so full of life as a pregnant elf? He should have...somehow!...made the elf stay at camp. There it was safe. Maybe he could have followed to Edoras and ... But of course not. Legolas was impossible.

"What kind of army would linger in this awful place?" Gimli muttered. They had not been riding more than half an hour now, he was the first to break the silence. Before leaving, Aragorn had shared what he would seek here – aid. An army of great power were hidden here in the shadows, waiting for a call for help.

"One that is cursed," Legolas murmured. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountain swore an oath to the last king of Gondor. To come to his aid, to fight... But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled... Vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them - never to rest, until they had fulfilled their pledge."

A shiver was sent down Gimli's spine. So it was that kind of army. A dead army. No wonder this road had such a terrible name... Unconsciously he tightened his grip around Legolas' waist.

Legolas felt something...a movement, no, several – presences. Behind them, moving. He murmured something soft in Elvish and Aragorn heard. A small nod indicated that the ranger heard and felt it to.

They were being followed.

Both slowed their horses, making Gimli even more tense and the dwarf's eyes moved from left to right hastily. "What is it, laddie?" he hissed to the elf. This place was getting on his nerves. Was the dead here, following...? The sky was clouded and barely visible high above. Cliff walls streched around them. There was not left, or right. There was only to go back...or continue on. They did neither. They waited.

But then a call was heard. "Is it true that Strider's long legs has wandered this far already?" the voice asked.

Legolas glanced at Aragorn. Only one of the rangers would use the man's name Strider in that tone. Something was familiar about that voice... Out of the shadows behind them emerged riders clad in gray, mounted on great steeds. Aragorn dismounted, and went to meet them with a smile. He new them. They were his kin, the Dúnadain. And there, next to the leader holding a spear in his hand were...

Legolas' eyes widened. Elladan! Elrohir! What were they doing here? He had not seen them for months now... He dismounted as well, and seeing Gimli's displeasure he helped the dwarf dismount. While Aragorn greeted his men, Legolas looked over to the twins. They saw him, met his gaze...

He thought of decisions. Should he tell them? They were in war. Maybe they would not come out of it alive. They were his kin, his friends, his brothers in all but blood...They were his friends. He could trust them. He made his decision and walked over to meet them. He did not doubt their sharp elven eyes could see his bulge, even thought he wore his clothes now very loosely.

"Elladan, Elrohir!" he greeted. "_Le suilon_! _Man cerich hi__?"_

The twins stepped up with identical grins and embraced him simultaneously, without answering his question. Legolas let them. Usually they would tackle him to the ground, but they did not this time. Their eyes were serious. He met their gazes and let them know. They smiled secretly; they had found out the moment they saw him.

"Congratulations," both twins whispered, still with their arms around him. Legolas could feel his cheeks geeing warmer and red, and something burned behind his eyes. They were happy... They did not blame him, they were just... It warmed his whole body.

"I had no idea," whispered Elrohir, afraid of getting overheard. "But it is amazing. At the council, were you...?"

Legolas nodded weakly and suddenly looked away, feeling the tingle of a blush spread to the tip of his ears. The twins read him easily and realized something was amiss here, or else Legolas would have stayed somewhere safe during his pregnancy. But he did not... It must have to do with the marriage; Legolas had probably gotten with child outside the marriage, and was something Thranduil was not so happy about. Elrohir remembered when the news came, words that king Thranduil searched for a suitable husband for his son. Even he was offered, like his twin was, to take his hand in marriage... They had refused, of course, they could not marry their best friend! Never.

They knew that bombarding Legolas with questions right now was not a good idea. The Grey Company were mounting again. They finally released their friend when the dwarf came over to them leading Arod, with some difficulty, by his side.

"You are the twin sons of Elrond are you not?" Gimli asked, narrowing his eyes. He remembered seeing them at the council. "A pleasure to meet you," he said, bowing slightly. "Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service." Legolas raised an eyebrow at this, but guessed since Lord Elrond was one of the greatest masterminds of this Middle-Earth and had been their host for long in Imradis, Gimli did not wish to start on bad terms with his sons.

The twins gave the dwarf an odd look, then looked at Legolas and shook their heads. Then they bowed. "Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Elrond, at yours and your family's," Elrohir said.

Gimli gave the reins to Legolas. "At least, see, you got sensible friends over there," he muttered.

Both the twins raised their eyebrows at the comment. Obviously Legolas and the Gimli were at friendly terms. But Legolas...and a dwarf? That did not seem to mix at all. "All will be explained later," Legolas said softly and mounted, Gimli behind him.

When they rode off again now almost thirty men stronger, the half-elves fell into line by each side of Legolas. The golden elf did not seem to mind, though Gimli muttered something about 'too much elven influence'. The elves snickered. For some moments, their ride in silence was not so cold and heavy. Though, after some time, their voices died out, and the air seemed to cold and the winds crept like shadows over them from every corner. The cliffs around them grew into a ceiling, and the space became thinner and more enclosed.

It was hard to breathe. Legolas felt that no air was enough to fill his lungs. No air...just cold darkness. There lay a fog around their horses' hooves, like a mat so that the ground beneath became blurry and pale. He felt fear radiate from their steeds, from the men and even from Gimli. Only Aragorn's face remained impassive. He turned to look at the twins by his sides, and their jaws were set tightly and their eyes stern. They could see what he saw.

Shapes. Shapes in the fog. Like ghosts of footsteps, echoing around them. The road was so narrow now they could not be more than three by three, riding in line, Their horses were nervous, a soft whine tumbled coldly on the rock around them, making the place even more cold and deserted.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen from me," Gimli whispered hoarsely. They had come now to a passage, a low arch. Above were words carved, words almost unreadable and not understandable.

"The way is shut," Elladan read silently. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it."

Gimli shivered. The words were not of comfort. He was afraid. He admitted it, he was really truly afraid. He felt the elf in front of him trying to suppress a shiver.

They had to dismount here, but realized that if they were to make it to Gondor swiftly after walking through this dark cave, they needed horses. But the animals refused to be led in there, into the lurking shadows. The elves had to softly sing to them to calm them down and it took long cold minutes until they were ready. Ready to go into that dreadful place. Aragorn walked first, he was their leader, and he was their hope and courage.

Before entering, Legolas felt a warmth wrap around his hand and looking over his shoulder his saw Elrohir there, a small smile on his face. He squeezed the hand back. When walking inside leading Arod, the twins were not far behind. They had grown a silent support as always, now even more careful as he carried a new young life in his body.

Gimli stood there trembling. Alone, with the fogs. Ahead was only darkness. He could not see anything in there... He took a deep breath. "What is this?" he cursed. "The elves, they can go underground – but a dwarf dare not!" He gripped his axe tightly and stepped forward. He had to do this, or he had to go back. What a coward he was. "Oh... I'll never hear the end of it!" He hurried under the rock and darkness swallowed him.

---

The air was cold in here. Cold and thick. It made it hard to breathe. And even if he knew that he was surrounded by men and he had friends close as brothers just next to him...even then he felt alone.

The only warmth there was from his friends, those around him.

There were no sounds but echoing steps, the sound of hooves against rock in the darkness, and the men's breath. A horses snorted softly sometimes but even they seemed afraid of this place, too afraid to let away any sounds. He heard Gimli behind him; the dwarf was gasping and tried to keep up the men and elves' longer steps.

The narrow passage grew wider slowly, the echoes drew out longer about them. The deeper they went, the heavies it was to breathe. Legolas felt slightly dizzy. It felt like all the rock and stone around him, above him, was pressing down, trapping...

Arod suddenly whined and halted, refusing to go any longer. He sensed something. Legolas did as well. The hair on his neck stood, goose bumps created on his skin. He was sensing danger.

There, a flickering of light...No, a pale shadow. A ... A dead.

He glanced at Elrohir. The twin just nodded with wide eyes and averted his gaze. They saw shapes of dead, of men, of horse, their broken spears... They closed in as fog around them. The dead were following.

The ground beneath their feet changed. Gimli froze when he heard something crack under the weight of his feet. Legolas did as well, glanced down, and instantly regretted it. He felt like he would throw up. Gimli cast looks from one side at the other, slowly starting to lower his gaze.

"Do not look down," Legolas murmured so softly he could so that the dwarf could just hear it.

The dwarf swallowed but could not help himself. He looked down.

_Oh God. Oh dear God._

There were sculls. Bones, dead bodies. Once there had been old flesh but it had rotten away. But sculls...cracking beneath their feet and the horses' hooves.

"Do not think of what it is," Aragorn whispered, from where he was. The men were also staring down. No one of them had even seen something as horrible before. It was not a ground they walked upon. It was a floor of dead bones. "Just go on..."

The passage opened under a wide arch, in them crafted the same words as by the entrance: "The way is shut." The words made their blood run cold. The fogs were thicker now. They came then to a large chamber, where they saw not the end or the ceiling. But they saw a gray, green shade around the large wall to the left. It was looking like a castle, a cathedral, a city build there in the stone. Build of...

_Build of bones._

Legolas felt trapped and a fear was steadily growing inside of him, gnawing him in and out. He felt the dead look at him, stare through him, and as they were so in between Death and Life, they saw the young soul he carried. His child. It frightened him.

The fogs suddenly drew away. The men had yet not seen them more as that, a fog, they saw not the faces and bodies and horses, the weapons, the stares...

"Who enters my domain?"

The voice was deep and echoed lastingly around them. Legolas could not decide from where it came; unconsciously he drew nearer to Elladan and Elrohir. For a moment he felt a wave of safety then, he felt the warmth of them push away the cold in the room.

"One who will have your allegiance." Aragorn's voice was the one of a king.

There, a shadow appeared, not only for the eyes of the elves but for the Grey Company and Gimli as well. The dwarf backed away. It was seeing through a man, pale, his clothing and flesh not left of – it was clinging to old bones. But on the man's head what the remains of a crown. Slowly the King of the Dead spoke, and his voice was chilling and deep and echoing. Shivers were sent down Legolas' spine.

"The Dead do not suffer the Living to pass." The King's eyes looked from Aragorn, to Legolas – he saw, saw the life... He started to move closer.

Legolas tensed, on instinct reached for an arrow and notching it on the bowstring. It was a movement of a moment. The arrow flew straight through the King's head like he was air, did not harm and did not hinder him.

The King's attention was stolen again. Legolas felt Elrohir or Elladan, or maybe both, lay a hand on his arm and squeeze slowly. No arrows could harm the Dead.

"You will suffer me!" Aragorn said strongly, his teeth gritted. They had so little time and...

A long, cold laugh left the King of the Dead. It grew and it was like a hundred voices laughed at them. Shadows flickered around them and started to grow – and then they saw then, the old since long dead warriors. Dead, coming closer. Pressing around them.

"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead.... And the dead keep it."

Gimli had raised his axe. The torches the men held blew out that moment, but a faint pale glows seemed to radiate from the dead, as if their soul shone right through - the little remains of their souls they had.

The King was stepping closer but Aragorn's remained where he was, stern and determined.

"The way is shut. Not you must die!"

Legolas felt the thick air whoosh when something flew just him by, missing his cheek by inches. One of the twins had fired an arrow, but it had no grip either – no weapon could strike against the Dead...

"I summon you to fulfill you oath," Aragorn said.

The King's voice changed. It was desperate and full of anger. "None but the King of Gondor take command over me!" He was just by Aragorn now, raised his sword – but the man was quick blocking the blow with his own blade. Strangely enough it did not went through the King's weapon. The cling of steel against steel echoed in the hall.

The King's demeanor was fainted with horror. "That blade was broken!" he gasped. Dead fog pressed thickly around them now, the men were frozen, Gimli was looked here and there in his fear and Legolas felt afraid as well – it was not like the fear he had from the dreams, that was direct fear, this was silent...edging closer...

"It has been remade," Aragorn answered, letting go of the Dead King. "Fight for us...and regain you honor. What say you?"

The dead around them had stopped their pace now, they were empty and hollow but stared silently. They burned holes through their bodies. Legolas swallowed, feeling their cold souls reaching out to touch his. He backed, a wave of dizziness waving through him when he felt himself glide through a dead soul.

Aragorn exploded. His voice echoed into the roof high above. "What say you?!"

The laughter. It returned like the longest and deepest of echoes, spread from the Dead King to the Dead warriors. Legolas shivered. In front of the company, Aragorn was starting to lose his calm endurance, he was growing impatient. And there was panic...Legolas started to feel it grow. The fogs around them started to draw back. "You have my word!" Aragorn cried. "Fight, and I will release you from this living death! What say you?!"

A wind blew through the very rock, there was a stench and then, the shadows were gone. The laughs slowly died away. Silence fell heavily, silence was the only thing that existed for a moment. Legolas gulped when he felt the ground beneath his feet tremble. It was ever so slightly, but... He glanced at Elrohir and then at Elladan. The twins met his gaze. They had also felt it.

When a second vibration shook the ground it was longer and harder. The men felt it now as well. The horses started moving back and forth restlessly, whining. They all felt it. Legolas felt panic and disbelief rise within him. The ground continued to tremble more and more violently. Then...

"No..." Horror was evident in Aragorn's voice. It was a whisper. For a moment they stood there frozen, as the ground shook and the rocks themselves howled. Then and now bones and sculles rolled from the shadows to their feet.

"Out!"

The walls started falling down, the roof, the rocks. The palace wall that had been built by the nearest wall started to fall – the company turned and fled, running to get out. Bones fell like a wild stream down on the floor and on them. They needed an entrance! Now!

Legolas gasped when the bones crushed down on them and around them. For a moment he lost his footing, slipping on a bone or scull, the mas moving beneath his feet. A strong grip grabbed his arm just before he hit the ground. The men were shouting and the horses cried in panic. They needed to get out!

"Legolas!" Elrohir cried, or maybe it was Elladan, or Aragorn, or... The hand on his arm pulled him on.

Somehow, Aragorn found a way out, leading them away from the sea of bones, through a tunnel. They saw light – light! Light that they had not seen for hours. Behind them, the bones continued to fall, and the caves were filled with a thundering sound like thousands of horses were running endlessly in there. Dust gathered for hundreds of years caught up with them. Legolas choked on his breath.

Then they were outside, and the sounds died away. Dust flowed out the entrance with them and died away. The company tired to gather themselves, and calm their horses but the animals were wild with panic.

Legolas felt his heart still beat loudly now somewhere in his throat. Still someone held his arm. He was too dizzy to look who it was.

Aragorn had stopped. Frozen there, standing on the high cliff. Ahead was water...Pelargir at the Coats of Gondor. They were here. They had made it.

But it was too late.

The city down there was on fire, smoke rose. They were far away yet, too far away to see any signs of life. The only things Aragorn saw was fire, smoke, and there, on the water sailing east were ships. Black ships. No...

Hopelessness caught him. He sank down on his knees, defeated. It was lost...Gondor was lost... The corsairs were leaving for Minas Tirith. The city would not survive, not now...

The men were silent, seeing their leader give in. They followed his gaze and saw as well. The hopelessness. The loss. Legolas moved forward, laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. Elladan followed suit, laying his hand on Aragorn's other shoulder, silently giving his brother support. Aragorn needed to be strong. They had to do – something! Help Gondor in some way.

The man was weary, his shoulders so tense. Feeling something soft and warm behind him, he leaned against it, trying to find some support. Legolas did not move away when Aragorn's head lightly rested against his swollen stomach.

A horse suddenly whined and tried to move from its master's grasp. The man who rode the horse did not let it. A whoosh of cold air, like a winter breeze, stole Aragorn's attention. Slowly he turned his head, and Legolas and Elladan followed his gaze. The elves felt the hairs on their necks stand. A presence. Someone... or something...was coming. Aragorn moved fro their grasp and stood slowly, turning around, facing rock again.

Gimli flinched and raised his axe, when something emerged from the stone wall behind them. Something pale. And cold. A ghost, still clad in armor, worn over rotten flesh and old bones.

The King of the Dead. He had given in to the command of Isirdur's heir. His voice was raw and low like a hoarse whisper when he spoke.

"We fight."

-----

_**Author's note**: Whoosh! We are already there, soon we are at Minas Tirith! Or, I hope so... Hm, El and El are definitely on Aragorn's and Gimli's side and won't let Legolas fight. (But who think Legolas will listen at all?)_

_**Elvish:**  
Le suilon - I greet thee  
Man cerich hi? - What are you doing here?_

_**My great, wonderful reviewers!**_

_glostarz: Elven warriors are great, and stubborn you know :) Thank you for the review! I'm so glad you like this so much!_

_mikinyet: Haha! Not me either (but that's just me). We must hope most dreams are over now...I mean, once the large battle at the Pelennor Fields is over... Thanks for reviewing!_

_ovoriel: Here you got, surprise! I can't believe I actually forgot them...But okay it's been like a year since I actually *read* the book (not just turn to the pages I like). And, hm... He's by his 7th month by now (out of the elven 12) so that makes about 5 months or so if he'd been a human. He is still pretty small I guess. Maybe he's too small, I don't know... o.0_

_Elinka: Hey again! I think you're starting turning into a slash/mpreg fan... good, good! XD Thanks for reading and reviewing and cheers for all the hugs! Next chapter may take some time to write though, I plan to make it long and full of action..._


	20. Chapter 20

_**Author's note**: Here it is – the Battle of the Pelennor fields! I re-watched the movie and re-read the book countless times while writing this... So I hope this pleases you! Enjoy, people!  
I have used some elven names here that aren't mine. I borrowed them just for a mention from www(.)theargonath(.)cc. These elves doesn't have any part of the story, they are just mentioned – and not mine! Would be to messy adding too many new characters now, would it! Soon we will meet some Gondorian people...(and very, very many annoying blood-thirsty orcs. And some flying Nazgûls. And don't forget the Oliphaunts! There is a lot going on here, I feel)._

**----**

**Chapter 20**

**---**

The ships were coming closer to them now, slowly. The Grey Company stood silent and tall, strong but quiet, on the shore. Waiting. The corsairs must have seen them now.

Gimli was impatiently fidgeting on his axe. On the horse next to him Aragorn was waiting. The man had sent away the Dead Army now. What went through his mind now, the dwarf could only guess. Why not immediately unleash the Dead Army upon the corsair? Why just sit here and wait? He hated waiting. Right now, he really hated waiting.

Legolas was tense again. It was not of fear or nervousness this time; now, the appreciation of a battle started to build inside of him. He wanted to fight! This old urge he had learned so longtime ago, it was so strong now. For the hundred time he cursed his friends that they would not let him. He understood, they cared...they were worried of him, his unborn child...Oh and the twins would never let him either... But he was a warrior! He could defend himself! He was not weak, he was not like one of those human women just because he was pregnant – those that the men sent away at the mere smell of battle. He guessed that Men could never believe the concept that in Mirkwood, gender mattered not between warriors. Many of the most experienced guards were females. And they were dangerously strong.

He was not weak. He was impatient. Right now, very impatient.

Once the ships were close enough, probably slowing down by curiosity, Aragorn spoke loudly, his voice carried over the waters. "You may go no further!" he said. "You will not enter Gondor."

Laughter rose among the corsairs. "Who are you to deny us passage?" one of them called back.

"Fire a warning shot," Aragorn murmured to Legolas, who sat next to him. Legolas nodded. The man felt his urge to fight. But a warning shot... So he could not hit anything then. Damn that ranger. He notched an arrow on his bow.

"Watch your aim," Gimli reminded him. His tone... It meant he had something in mind... _Damn!_ Legolas fired the same moment as Gimli pulled slightly at his bow. Instead of just hitting the ship, the arrow buried deep in someone's chest. Gimli tried to look shocked and innocent when Legolas gave him a heated glare.

"Turn back now!" Aragorn said. "Turn back and live or come, and fight!"

The corsairs laughed. "Fight?" they called back, smirking. "Who? You, and what army?"

Aragorn's face remained impassive, and Legolas realized the plan that had been untold.

"This army."

The Dead Army appeared in a flash, floated through the Grey Company who stood on the shore, watching but not doing anything. Shrieks left their dead throats as they flew over the water and on the ships. Their weapons maybe did not bite, but they created a fear that made chaos on the ships. Men threw themselves overboard in their fright and panic.

Legolas had never seen anything like this before. A Dead fighting Army. The Dead were more than he had realized – hundreds...thousands. Many more than those from Rohan fighting upon Helm's Deep.

"This was the plan?" Gimli muttered. "Well, I cannot say it was a bad one. Those Dead One's may yet come in handy."

-----

They boarded the ships; those corsairs that had given up, Aragorn let live – their weapons were taken and they were set to work on the ships. They took not all of them, just enough so that they would arise no suspicion from the enemy while entering Gondor. No one should see that the whole crew had been changed, totally changed.

Legolas found himself with Gimli and the twins and Aragorn on the leader ship. They always kept looking at him, from the corner of their eyes. When he wanted to help, they did not let him. Damn them!

He grew angry, slowly, angry at them, angry at the war, at his father, at the river, at everything. Suddenly he wanted to be alone, and sneaked away from them, their prying eyes, managing to find an empty spot on deck. To be on a ship was new to him, this moving, creaking wood beneath his feet, the lulling of the waves – and he heard voices, in the wind, the breezes caressing his cheeks. The voices were in the water. He smelled salt in the air. It was the spray from the Sea. It awoke a gnawing feeling in his stomach, a longing... For a moment he forgot the incoming battle and drowned in the feeling, the voices around him.

A sad feeing grabbed him, gripped about his heart. His chest tightened, tears worked up his throat and he had to shut his eyes tightly to stop them from coming. The Sea...Its call made him think of Egil again. So far away...yet so close. He missed Egil. Missed him so much. 'If just...I could see him again. Just one last time...'

Slowly he opened his eyes. There was water. The shore was floating away as they traveled down the river, guided by wind and waves. Tears glazed his eyes. He gripped the railing tightly, leaning over slightly – he felt nauseous, and he wanted the voices silent, but they sang just louder in his ears and Egil's voice joined there, and it hurt, hurt more than pain had hurt before.

"Legolas?"

The voice shook him and he stumbled a little hearing it. He had not sensed anyone coming closer, or heard any footsteps. The song faded away from his weary mind.

"Legolas, are you listening to me, lad?"

He turned his head, tried to push away the thoughts, the longing, the worry... "I am sorry, Gimli," he murmured. "I was...lost in thought again."

"Typically you," Gimli muttered but then his face softened. "What _is _bothering you now?"

Legolas sighed softly, he was not sure Gimli would understand – not, he could not; dwarves did not understand this .... Sea longing... Only elves could. Those who already felt the Sea's call. "The Sea," he murmured.

"The sea, eh?" Gimli frowned. "This is something strange I have never heard of before. Tell me. It must be some elven trait."

Legolas managed a small smile, but felt yet so weak, so chaotic... He leaned against the rail but looked away from the water. "I... I cannot explain, Gimli. The Sea longing. It is eating me inside out, now when it happens to me and I realize..." The words thickened in his throat until he could not tell them. He was saying too much. Gimli did not know of ... none knew of...

Gimli did not go, did not leave him alone, even if Legolas silently wished he did. The dwarf seated himself on the stair leading up to the steering wheel's deck, waiting for the elf to continue, his curiosity peaked. "...Realize what, lad?" he asked.

Tell him, his mind said. He knows about your dreams, about your brother, about your child. Why is it so hard to tell him the rest then? Friends, remember? But he pushed the voice away_. Not now._

Maybe never.

Coward.

Legolas looked away. "Nothing...Nothing."

Gimli did not let go yet. The trip to Minas Tirith would still take more than a day. They had time. And things on the ship seemed to go fine now. He took out his pipe from its safe place in his pocket and lit it. Legolas did not even look displeased about it. The elf just stood there and ... stared. Out at nothing. Something was up with the lad. Was it the child? Or perhaps the upcoming battle? "You want to fight, don't you?" Gimli asked.

"Yes." The answer was short and the elf did not look at him saying it.

"You are hopeless," the dwarf continued. "And stubborn. That is a very bad combination. If you think that you can fight just to make a better score this time than in the Helm's Deep, then you are wrong. Legolas?" The elf looked far away... Gimli cracked a small secret smile. "Damned pointy-ear, you know, people like you should be kept in prisons and send to, say, Barad-Dûr just for safe-keeping. Then no trouble would reach us other poor people. Don't you agree, my friend?" he asked, his tone serious, like he was talking about a safe plan that would make sure the world was rid of all evil for eternity.

Legolas still did not look at him. He did not even listen. He stood there staring, his gaze again drawn to the water passing by, his mind far-away. He had not picked up the words, just the dwarf's voice, saying something, and the tone, indicating a question. He nodded his head solemnly. "Hmm..."

"Ah, glad you agree lad, finally have some sense managed to sneak into your mind. Without me even noticing it!" Gimli continued teasing, trying to hold back laughter. It was good, this, to move away his thoughts from battle. Had the elf's thoughts been here and not far away, it might had been better thought. He did not like Legolas demeanor right now. It was unsettling. "Come on now, Legolas. Have you lost your ears? Are you even listening to me?"

To his surprise, in his far-away dreams, he heard laughter. Legolas lifted his head. There was Gimli sitting on the stair smirking at him. He did not understand why. And did not remember, which frustrated him to no end. Oh damn that dwarf! "I was lost in thought again," Legolas apologized.

Gimli chuckled still. "So I see. Once we reach Minas Tirith, I shall have a word with Gandalf."

Legolas did not smile. He could not bring himself to do so. Instead, he asked, "How far is Minas Tirith?"

"One day and some more," another voice answered. Aragorn came up to them, have just heard Legolas' question. He captured Gimli's still lasting smirk at the elf. "What is going on here?" he asked.

The dwarf just shook his head and took a long smoke at his pipe. "Nothing at all to worry about."

Legolas felt tension build inside of him again, he wanted to be alone, yet not – and he knew so well why, who he wanted to really be with... He moved away from the railing and excused himself, ignoring the look Gimli sent after him. But neither man or dwarf stopped him.

He took the silence they sent after him a sign that they would soon find him again, and then not let him out of sight in a long time.

---

Time flew by like the waters below. Legolas walked around without direction, trying to find a lone spot. He did not wish to go below deck, were some prisoners were held, and, this was a pirate ship after all. Who knew what they kept down there?

"_Suil__, muindor,_" suddenly a voice said. Turning he saw Elrohir there.

"_Mas Elladan?_" Legolas asked, giving his friend a small smile. Elrohir looked serious. He was sitting on a bench polishing his sword, preparing for battle.

Elrohir nodded across deck, toward the steering wheel. "_Lent an dírad Aragorn a 'Imli i chadhod__,__" _he answered.

Legolas nodded. The slightly older elf would surely demand to know his little brother's plans. They had managed to take over the ships and find the Dead Army, but now what? He took seat on the bench next to Elrohir. "_Gerin dhâf_?" he asked, indicating the twin's sword.

Elrohir nodded with a small smile, giving him the weapon. Legolas tested the weight in his hand. It was quite light, as elven weapons usually were, but it was also heavier than his own sword, the one he had left home and not taken with him for the journey – that sword he had not wielded in a very long time...

"_Sen vegil vaer,_" he commented, giving the weapon back to the twin who slid it in its sheath. Legolas guessed he preferred the weight as he had also human blood in his veins, and had lived long with them, the rangers. Elrohir and his brother were used to heaviness and long tiresome days, in a way he was not, Legolas mused.

"My father gave it to me," Elrohir said softly. "It was my first real sword, sharp and heavy enough. He had Balewath making it for me, the smith in Rivendell..."

Legolas nodded, but he did not recognize that name and could not put any face to it. But, he supposed he had never met this smith then. Elrohir continued talking about his sword, about training with Glorfindel and sparring against Elladan, about Balewath... And Legolas half-listened only let the words flow over him and take away his thoughts for a while. It felt good. He felt like he was, for a moment, back in the valleys of Rivendell enjoying the song of the trees and the soft humming of the falling rivers, sitting in a glade talking and laughing with his friends...

Friends. Then there had not been Gimli, or Aragorn either for that matter. Then there had been him and the twins, no one more and no one less, and there had been peace. No war, no troubles, just calmness. No Egil...

No! Why did he always think of him? Whatever he thought of, said, it all in the end ... everything related to Egil. He could not let him go...

"...And then he fell backwards; we were afraid he ha hit his head so hard he would have a substantial injury, but luckily, _adar_ managed to come in time and... Legolas?" Elrohir waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze.

"I'm sorry, Elrohir, I was lost in thought," Legolas apologized. "You were saying?"

"I was in the middle of telling how Glorfindel almost broke Istíon's leg and had to pay for it. And you were not even listening to me, so I believe that the dwarf was right then," Elrohir said with a chuckle, shaking his head. He kncoked upon his own black head with a smirk. "Day-dreamer."

Legolas' eyes widened. "You spoke to Gimli?"

"Yes. He has a good sense of humor even if he is a _nogoth_. Odd is it not?" Elrohir mused. "I heard you two get along quite well and that you actually named him friend. That is interesting. Tell me more about it. Maybe I will be a better listener than you are," he added with a teasing smirk.

Legolas ignored his friend's smirk. "I though him to to be like just any dwarf at first...But I do not know any other dwarves, actually, so I do not know how I thought a dwarf would be. But he proved to be unlike what I had thought about him."

Elrohir nodded, looking from his friend over the deck. He could spot Gimli with Aragorn and Elladan, talking. His brother caught his gaze, smiled and quickly made his way over to them.

"Ah, there you two are!" the twin said as he reached them. "What are you doing?"

Elrohir squinted at him. "Remember when Istíon nearly broke his leg?"

His brother chuckled. "How could I forget?"

"Well, it seems that for once, Legolas is more interested in ... yes, what are you thinking of now my friend ... than any of the stories I have on mind." He turned to Legolas , who sat silent on his side. "What is occupying that mind of yours_, muindor_?" he asked.

Legolas tensed. No, he could not trouble the twins with... "Nothing," he said, a little too quickly. Before the twins had a chance to say something, he stood. "I must leave," he murmured before he hastily walked away from them, over deck and behind the raised platform with the steering wheel. There no one saw him. He stood there feeling something hot burn behind his eyes. He had been so near...But then he had broke and failed to speak, again.

I did not want to heave their minds, he thought.

Really? The voice whispered back. Do you think, then, it is better having them staring after you, wondering what went so wrong?

---

The twins stared at Legolas' retreating back. He was clearly upset, but... They looked each other, met each other's gazes. It had something to do with the child, the upcoming battle, or both. Something was wrong here. Legolas had been tense as well when they asked about the child before the Paths of the Dead. But why? They needed to know, they needed to find out soon. Legolas demeanor was worrying them. They also so it worried Aragorn and Gimli too.

What was going on?

----

The day darkened. The waters they traveled upon seemed so gray, like the sky above. There was no sun, the clouds hung heavily like on thin threats above them, soon about to break. During a short time it rained but it passed, and the clouds did not lighten but only darkened more.

Legolas avoided his friends as much as he could for the first few hours. He thought, alone, and at several occasions he was nearly bursting into tears, the heaviness of the world crushing down upon him. But he drew trembling breaths and staggering managed to get to his feet. He saw the horizon draw closer. It was a pitch black sky there. He saw Mordor in the horizon, the dark endless shadow, and also he could see Minas Tirith, a dusty spot surrounded by shadows.

The city was under attack.

They were nearing the harbors when Aragorn found him. He was sitting staring at the nearing darkness, polishing one of his long white knives. The man looked displeased. "You will not come with us," he said.

"I will," Legolas bit back, casting a short glance at him, whatever you like it or not."

"No, it is too dangerous," Aragorn said. "Think, Legolas! Think of what could happen out there. Please, do not go out there and fight. Please! I do not wish for you to get hurt."

"I am a warrior and a prince, do not tell me what to do!" Legolas exclaimed and met the man's gaze stubbornly. "I can look after myself."

"No, Legolas. No. Not this time."

Legolas sighed, looked away for a moment. He put back his knife. "Why are you always so worried about me?" he murmured softly.

Aragorn sat down next to him and took his hand. "Because you are my friend. My brother. You mean so much to me, and I care for you. Is that not reason enough?" Legolas did not meet his gaze. "I do not wish for you to get hurt. I rather die before I see you or anyone of my friends be hurt, Legolas."

He said the words in a soft murmur close to his ear. But even though simple, it was said passionately and Legolas' heart felt like it swelled in his chest. Before he knew it his eyes swam with tears, knowing that Aragorn cares so much. That no matter what, he had Aragorn's deep brotherly love. It warmed his very soul. He pushed Aragorn into a tight embrace, fresh tears still in his eyes. He shut his eyes tightly.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice strangely hoarse and strangled. "Thank you ..."

Aragorn smiled. "Do not go in the battle, Legolas. The ships will be safe." For a time, his mind added. For a time, then they would probably be set on fire. Where would Legolas go then? He maybe would not fight in an attack, but he would have to defend himself and be ready for it.

Legolas swallowed and tried to push away the tears. He did not speak but nodded. That was enough for Aragorn."Once it is clear, I will find you and we will go to Minas Tirith together," he said. "And, who knows, maybe I will save one little orc out there for your strange unelven blood-thirst," he added with a grin.

Legolas chuckled at the idea. "Aye, but I would perhaps beg to differ on that. Leave a troop. I am no child, you know."

Aragorn laughed softly as well. "Forget about it, _mellon nîn_. One or no one." He stood, embracing Legolas one last time. He had a foreboding feeling in his stomach – a fear that he might not survive this battle, and then this would be the last time he saw his dear friend.

One of the rangers cried out, they were near the quay now. Legolas gave his friend an encouraging smile. "You can do this, Estel," he said. "We will see each other in no time."

---

There was chaos. The armies in battle rising dust to the sky stretched on and on to the horizon and even longer. Probably only an elf could see where it ended. At the harbor, there waited a large group of orcs impatiently. They were waiting, not fighting. Behind them were surely many more troops defending them. They were waiting for the corsairs to arrive.

And they had now. One by one the ships slowly moved to stop by the quay. A leader of the orcs, an ugly figure with a rotting scull placed on its helmet, stepped forward, weapon in hand. "Come down, you sea rats!" it cried. "Get off your ships!"

There were no words in answer to his cry. Instead, a lone man jumped over the railing landing on his feet on the ground. There was strong determination and fury in his face and eyes. He ha his sword raised, stood there, met the orcs alone. A murmured spread among the beasts, this was no a corsair – was it?

A dwarf and two dark-haired tall beings jumped down to stand next to the man. The orcs sneered, recognizing the tall, almost identical, beings, with their long hair and young but wise faces and pointy ears – as elves. But even though they were angry, they grew uneasy. Had these four managed to board the ships somehow? They had weapons raised high, ready to attack.

The small group moved forward, and the orcs backed slightly the faster the man and his comrades paced. Then they broke into a run with battle cries and a mass of pale beings – men with their horses and spears - materialized before the orcs' eyes.

The Dead Army flowed like a large river over the dark armies, spreading fear even if their weapons might not bite on flesh. Quickly following were a large group of tall proud men clad in gray, much alike to Aragorn. The Dead Army was here, and in their heels were also the Grey Company. And hey would fight, together, and nothing would stop them now. Too late the orcs realized the strength of the newly arrived enemies.

----

Legolas waited anxiously on the ship. His hands were trembling slightly, because he was worried for his friends, and because he wanted this battle to end – and he wanted to fight. An instinct born within him so long ago, now it came to him. He should be out there, defending people who could not defend themselves. He on deck, despite to Aragorn's orders that he should not be. He could be seen.

He was hiding behind the large platform up to the wheel, from here, no orcs on the quay could see him. He sensed that something, a danger, drew near. Enemies were all around him, on the ground, and below in the ships' dungeons were the corsairs, probably screaming for help by now.

Staying here had been a bad idea.

Suddenly, a high pitched scream reached him from afar. He had to cover his ears with his hands pressing tightly but yet he heard that cry, and it grew louder. It rose over the battle, and he looked up seeing a shadow not far away. _Nazgûl!_ How could they possibly defeat such an enemy?

They cannot, he thought. Orcs may be killed but a Nazgûl... That was impossible if not Frodo managed to destroy the Ring. Was it not?

The scream faded away, as the Ringwraith, riding a large black shadow, turned from the harbors here in Osiligath to Minas Tirith. Finally he uncovered his ears and looked around. Soon, he knew that, soon he had to leave this place. He did not know how long time had passed since Aragorn and Gimli had left... he moved from the platform's shadow and spotted the Dead Army's paleness floating out over friends and foes alike, like someone had dropped a really large glass of old milk over the landscape. They moved quickly, through people and buildings. Unfortunately, Aragorn, Gimli and the twins and all the soldiers from Gondor could not.

When an arrow with shaft on fire hit deck and buried in the wood, one instinct took over his mind – he had to get away from there, now! The orcs, realizing that the ships had been taken over by enemies, would soon burn down every single ship here, starting with this one, the one docked at the port. He cursed under his breath as he crept to the edge of the railing and looked overt he harbor was almost emptied – almost. There lay corpses everywhere, among the fighting men and orcs, as far as the eye could see. A group of maybe ten orcs armed with bows and lit torches stood facing the ships. Another arrow came flying. Legolas took his bow and notched an arrow on the string. He knew the moment stood an aimed he would be a clear target. He had to be quick.

The first one of his arrows took down an orc with a torch. It fell down lifelessly on the ground and it took some moments for its companions to register where the arrow had come from. Then they sneered angrily at the elf, spotting the golden haired being above them. Legolas did not cease his fire and thee more orcs died in quick session. The last ones smirked and cried to him in their own foul tongue, and fired their own weapons. Legolas was too quick for them and he ducked, then flung himself over the railing to land on his feet, not ore than ten meters from them.

He didn't stop, he ran at them while firing arrows and three seconds later, they were dead. Their torches laid on the ground, two of them still burning – and Legolas had an idea. He grabbed one of them and ran to the nearest cover, at the same time tried to see where the most orcs where. They were drawing further and further away from the quay, towards the city. Smoke rose from Minas Tirith. It was burning...like in Pippin's vision in the Palantír... 'This is not good, not at all,' he thought.

Holding the torch in one hand and bow in the other, he silently made his way over a stone boulder, a piece of some fallen building. In the distance, he could spot large trolls. Many of them. And there were large shadows in the sky, Nazgûl... He could not see how many, but at least four or five where there – maybe more...Maybe all of them. But what worried him right now, where the large number of creatures among the enemies below.

Oliphaunts. Hundreds of arrows it took to fell such a creature. The Men would not have a chance if they were surrounded by them, the wild large animals. Their backs held now caravans of evil men, like big saddles with roofs upon them, filled with enemies.

Legolas put down the torch on the ground, and lit the tip of an arrow before he aimed at the nearest group of fighting enemies. Then he let go. He did not stay to hear their screams or see them try to flee from the flames. Over and over he did it – ran to a new place, lit, fired, ran... He had to be quick. Fire was a good weapon right now.

That piercing scream again – it rose around them, making him drop the torch in surprise. It lit the corpses on the ground and the dead grass. He let it be and instead notched a new arrow on the string of his bow, throwing himself into battle.

He saw orcs and many different men. By the green and brown attire that many on horses wore he understood – Rohan was here as well. They were hopefully many enough to break through their enemy lines. He remembered what Elladan had told him once, when they were younger, while on patrol taking down orc scouting parties. 'Let us go create some chaos.' That sounded like a good idea.

The Nazgûl cried again and flew down to the ground not far away. Legolas' eyes narrowed, and for a moment it was clear from enemies around him, and he saw a rider. He recognized him, yes, he did – King Théoden. The Nazgûl's steed landed not but came crushing down, grabbed the King's horse and flew him around in its gap. When he let go, the horse landed dead on the ground and Théoden fell hard. Fear and disbelief rose among the mean around them. Legolas sensed it clearly.

His attention was stolen when a remarkably large orc with a foul gash across its face grabbed his hair forcefully, almost snapping his neck. Legolas grabbed one of his knifes and drew it backwards, deep into the beast's stomach. It gulped and its grip loosened. Blood splattered on the ground when Legolas pulled out the knife and the orc fell dead. One of the many out there.

The orcs were quickly upon him again – they saw he was an elf as soon they glimpsed him, and their long deep hate towards elves drove them to madness. They all wanted the elf dead. And sometimes, if they even managed to catch an elf, they could kill among each other just to be the one to kill and torture the prisoner. This was no exception. Legolas rose all frustration and ager he could find and used to to find strength, to come into this rhythm of killing. One by one the orcs lay dead by his feet. He tried to kill and move closer and closer to the city by the same time.

Something whizzed by his ear, missing just by a hair. An arrow. Blades and spikes and swords attacked him. Against a heavy sword or spears, two elven blades how sharp they are were not so much help. He had a hard time registering what was happening and found almost no breath between each movement. Soon everything was blurred, like a mad dance.

A large pale shadow passed by. The orcs fled or died in terror of this new threat that spilled upon them. Legolas did not like the Dead Army but was now very thankful for them. They had just saved his life. Finally he could breathe and his gaze cleared. The battlefield was not quickly emptying, much thanks to the Dead and for the Rohirrim. Then suddenly, he remembered King Théoden.

He had been attacked by a Nazgûl, but where was he? The King was not his friend, but he was a good man, a King. It would be unfair to turn his back.

He hurried his steps as he ran searched the field, and he soon enough saw the large black shadow of the Ringwraith's steed. It it lay on the ground, twitching in its death, the head cut off from its neck. Blood pooled on the ground. And there stood a large black being of terror, taller than any man he had seen before, than even an elf. Arm outstretched slightly, the Nazgûl's steel-covered hand was closed around a pale neck of a Rohan soldier, whom Legolas did not know. He reacted on instinct. Not having any arrows left he ran forward and buried one of his elven knifes in the Nazgûl's shoulder. A pain sharp and like ice sprang from his fingertips up through his arm. For a moment, stars veiled his vision and he fell backwards with a cry of pain.

It hurt. This pain was strange and new, like a ice-cloud taking over his senses. For a moment when he closed his eyes he saw a large burning Eye, and with a sharp gasp he opened his eyes wide again.

A moan and a cry drew his attention. Lifting his head slightly, he saw a small creature fall back from cutting the Nazgûl's knees from behind. The Rohan soldier took off his helmet, revealing a very female face. He recognized her...But his mind was so groggy, he could not remember and focus on much else than the pain.

"I am no man."

When her sword pierced the kneeling Nazgûl's face, a scream teared the air. She stumbled to the ground as well, like defeated and in great pain, the sword shot backwards like an arrow from its a tense string. The Ringwraith crumbled on the ground, and a large whoosh drew through the air, tearing all sounds apart. The scream stopped – and all that laid on the ground was a small heap of black robes and a crumbled, broken armor. The Nazgûl's sword lay beside its robes, the silver colour turning black as night.

Legolas could not move. He barely felt his arm, else than a white cold pain. What was happening to him? Panic worked up in his systems. Was his child hurt? And why could he not move his arm, his fingers? He had to move, for goodness' sake! There was a battle going on around him, he could not just lay here! 'I am going to die,' a voice in his mind said. 'Is this how I am going to die?'

_Egil will be so disappointed._

_So angry._

After a while, though, he managed crawl into some sitting position, leaning against the body of a dead horse. The fact that it was a dead horse was no matter now, he did not care. He just needed to get out of here.

The chaos of the battle faded away from his ears and his sight. There was so much dist all around him, he could barely see beyond where Éowyn laid on the ground, barely moving. Éowyn. That was her name. A small part of his mind wondered what she was doing here, he though she was not allowed to fight...

'And what are you doing here, you fool?' he reminded himself. 'Now get up! Up!'

He tried. He could not get up. Not far away he could just register a blackness and cries of battle.

-----

_**Author's note**: Ha! Were you ready for that? Okay, so maybe it is some kind of -making-him-the-hero-cliché' but hey, it's my story so I do as I please with it. Another wicked chapter for you! Hope you like that. (Next chapter warning: Aragorn is going to kill him. And Gimli and Elladan and Elrohir too. Legolas, I mean). Until next time, namárië._

_**Elvish **(**S**, Sindarin – **G**, Grevlish, as you know, non-Tolkien) :_

_Suil, muindor – Hello, brother_

_Mas Elladan? – Where is Elladan?_

_Lent an dírad Aragorn a 'Imli i chadhod - He went to find Aragorn and [the]_

_dwarf Gimli._

_Gerin dhâf?– May I?_

_Sen vegil vaer – This is a good sword_

_Adar – father  
_

_Nogoth – dwarf_

_Muindor – brother_

_Mellon nîn_ – _my friend_

_**Reviewers, here we go **_– _thanks everybody! (I can't believe I got, like, seven reviews for just one chapter, lol) __**:**_

_Nomad Princess__: Thanks :D *huge grin* Yeah, I thought that its time for something daring, let's see what you think if I mess a little with both books and movies..._

_mikinyet__: I think I have kind of forgotten Thranuil for a while. Yes, I definitely have. But soon we'll maybe see more of him! Promise you, he will not be happy about Legolas right now! Tanks for reviewing, by the way :)_

_Elinka__: Here you are! And thanks for reading, skipping homework and all just to do so xD ! (Slash is great, mpreg even greater! Hope you write one one day, I will read it you know!)_

_siana__: New reader, goodie goodie! Thanks for the review! Thranduil will soon be back on track again, so to speak..._

_glostarz__: Hey, glad you reviewed still :D Here you go, even more wicked this time._

_Din: Thank you, thank you :D I think when one's writing, the more you do it, the more you improves. It takes like 10 chapters for me to really 'get into' a story, I think, and to make a good job of it. Here's more!_

_Alanic__: Thanks for the review and the criticism, it's very appreciated. Once I have finished this piece, I will look over it in a 'beta-mode' to try to find all mistakes in grammar and spelling. A beta would be good, so I think I maybe should get one... (if there is anyone out there with the time to keep up, lol). And by the way, I think I have answered at least one of your questions in the story... Actually I have been thinking of pairing Legolas with someone else. I have no idea who. He will never be able to replace Egil, you know, take a lover like that... But maybe he will! We will see in time._


	21. Chapter 21

_**Author's note:** Hey again! I noticed this chapter shifts from scene to scene/person to person quite a lot. Sorry if it's confusing. And for those who wonder, I will read through this whole fic and change all errors (grammatically) that I can find once I'm done writing it. Maybe there's someone out there who'd like to beta? Thank you._

**----**

**Chapter 21**

**----**

He tried to move again. Raise his head. Tried to. But he could not, he felt too dizzy...and tired... There was so much darkness growing around him, blocking his vision... He wanted to see some light! Light! "Get up!" he gasped to himself. "Now, you damned lazy fool! What are you waiting for!?"

He curled up tighter, arm pressed against his chest, and managed to lift his head this time. The shadows in his mind were forced away. He needed to get out of here. Find help, even if he hated to admit it. Help... Slowly, he crawled over the ground of corpses and dead tramped grass, more dragging himself than crawling. That moment he heard something more, cries over the tumult of battle. And grunts and footsteps. Curses in definitely orcish. He turned his head slightly looking over his shoulder, horrified when he saw a large pig-faced orc moving over the battle-field. It held a spear in its hand and looked mad and angry. Legolas knew he was too weak to put up a real fight. If just... A weapon! He needed a weapon! He tried to reach over his back for a knife, but he could not reach, his whole body protested the movement with tearing pain. And the other... The black corpse! Maybe...

He continued to crawl. The footsteps were closer now. Panic began to rise within him now, panic, that familiar bottomless feeling. He tried to move faster over the ground, gasping when his arm laced with white pain again, sometimes like knifes through the numbness. He could spot his knife now, glinting in the daylight from the sun that tried to fight through the heavy clouds. The blade lay buried in the black robe that the Nazgûl had once worn over his invincible form, and it was so close now... so close... He reached out, fingers stretching but he could not reach. Just barely... The orc behind him was so close that he almost felt its breath against his neck. The knife's bone handle felt soft against his skin when he could touch it for a moment, but the slight movement caused it to slip, away from his grasp. The orc behind him raised its spear with a leer.

But the weapon never come down. There was no pain, not anything. Legolas turned his head in surprise when he heard a thud and battle-cries: the orc fell down without head on the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief, but his chest tightened when he saw the man who had just cut of the beast's head. He could not be seen by him, not yet...

Aragorn never turned his head - did not see him, was too consumed by battle - and he never realized that he had just saved Legolas' life.

Legolas tried to calm his senses again. The sounds of battle, they cleared now... He heard orcs and men and also a voice clearly recognized; a dwarf's. "Come on then! _Khazad! Baruk khazad ai-menu_!" That was definitely Gimli.

He managed to grasp his knife at last; then he started to crawl again, his right arm still pressed against his chest, his left hand holding the elven blade in a firm grip. He tried to feel his hand again, move his fingers, but they were so numb. He felt so tired...His vision swam for a moment, it took a while for him to see anything clearly again. His eyes darted from left to right while he moved. Enemies were so far away, battle fading away; dust rose from everywhere among the corpses. He saw silhouettes of men, orcs, horses...and pale dead clouds... His grip was already weaker on the knife. His hand trembled. "Up!" he gasped, cursing himself. Why was he this weak?! "Come on Legolas! Get on your feet,_ stand up_!"

With a shaky sigh he managed to sit, leaning against something, maybe it was a dead body... He managed to come to his knees but lost balance again, he was too tired...too weak... His mind screamed at him, why did he just lie there?! Move!

He could not move.

Before darkness claimed him, he thought of his child, cursed himself, and hoped that at least his child was alright, despite to all the pain and all this he had pushed himself through. His child had to be all right...

----

"Release us."

The hiss from the King of the Dead was laced with impatience.

Gimli shook his head slightly. "Bad idea," he said, tried to make Aragorn listen to him. "Very handy these lads, even though they are dead."

"You gave us your word!" the Dead King hissed through gritted teeth. Behind him, the hundred man strong army of his stretched out, pale and ghostly. Those who might watch, watched in both fear and awe.

Aragorn did not listen to the dwarf just by his side. He had made a promise. He nodded slightly. "You have fulfilled your oath. Go." His words were simple. "Have peace."

A long deep sigh echoed among the dead. Slowly, they faded away, joining the mist. It was done now. This battle was over. He lifted his head and saw Gandalf, dressed in white and appearing uninjured as usual, coming closer. The wizard acknowledged him with a nod, a slight bow to the ranger and heir of Gondor. Aragorn could not hold back a grin. This battle was over now.

Now, he had to go and find Legolas.

Then, it was a fear that grew inside of him. Because he looked towards Osiligath and the harbors, and the ship were surrounded by dark smoke, raising and joining the clouds. The ships were set on fire. Gimli and the twins looked after him for a moment when the man started to run towards the quay. One shared glance and they followed.

Oh gods forbid Legolas was there, burned alive. Gods forbid.

----

Pippin was so worried and he was even more afraid. The hobbit in his arms was limping. "Come on Merry," he whispered. "You'll be fine, I promise you'll be."

He had found his best friend barely conscious on the battlefield. He was barely conscious right now. Merry did not respond when he frantically tried to speak with him. Pippin was at panic. Minas Tirith was still so far away. Even if the enemies were dead or gone now, the battle over, he saw no one he recognized. No one could or would help him; they were also grieving or helping wounded... He could not help a weak cry of despair, holding his friend tighter. Maybe he needed rest...Gently he lowered him onto the ground, laid a ripped cloak like a blanket over him. "Merry?" he whispered. "Merry?!"

"Pip..." Merry gasped, looking at him like dazed. "What are you...doing here...?"

"I will bring you into safety, Merry," Pippin whispered back, fighting tears. "I will..."

Merry's eyes darted over his friend's concerned face. "Are you going to leave me?"

"No...no...I won't leave you, Merry," Pippin whispered.

Merry managed a small smile, before he again lost consciousness. Pippin's heart beat so fast he was afraid it would burst. He had to be all right! Had to be! He called for help, but there was no answer. Merry did not wake up, but now he looked peaceful as if he was asleep without any injuries or bad dreams. Pippin took that as a good sign. He knew that soon they had to leave again. If Merry did not wake up, he would have to carry him...all the way to the city, where he needed to find a healer... 'Luckily he's not one of the Big Folk,' Pippin thought, scratching his head in staring at his friend. 'That would be impossible to carry.'

----

The ships were on fire. Aragorn felt despair grab him. If Legolas had not been burned alive, he could be anywhere...anywhere on the battlefield. Or at the river's bottom, drowned, or somewhere, wounded, dead... He had been so foolish! Why had he let Legolas with them in the first place? Why had he told his friend to stay here at the ship, in danger, in... Why?! He was such a fool!

"We will find him," Elladan said sternly, laying a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "We will."

Aragorn did not look at him, but shook his head in doubt. "But when?"

A cry acknowledged that he would soon find out when that was.

----

He cried. Éomer cried, cried is despair as he crawled his sister to his chest. She lay so pale, so cold, unmoving, numb beneath his fingers. And next to her lay the dead body of Théoden, their uncle, their King. Éowyn could not be dead! But she was that. She felt like it. She was so cold... He cried but found no tears. Some of the Rohirrim came and helped him lift her, and he was not crying anymore.

"Milord!" one of the soldiers cried. "She is alive, yet breathing but her breath is weak."

"Hurry to the city and take her to healers, any healers," Éomer said, feeling strangely numb. His voice seemed to emotionless in his ears. He stood staring after the Rohirrim's retreating backs as they mounted their horses and rode towards Minas Tirith. Éowyn had to survive this. She was strong... But was she strong enough? And why did she come into battle? Had her fierce spirit drove her to this? He did not understand.

Finally he teared his gaze from them, and his eyes roamed over the battlefield in search for...for what? He knew not what. Everywhere lay corpses, dead, dying, wounded... weapons and blood lay shattered everywhere. He started walking again, toward his dead uncle. Several of his soldiers stood around the dead man, grieving. They had managed to push away the dead horse from the King's unmoving body, and lain a blanket over him. No, it was not a blanket, he realized. It was a Rohan flag, from a standard perhaps. But Éomer just stared, did not cry, then closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Why had this happened, why? This was such a dreadful day. Théoden was dead and Éowyn was dying...

"Milord!" he heard a cry suddenly. He lifted his head, and saw one of the soldiers kneel by a body not far away from Théoden's. But who could it be? Someone alive, wounded, dying, but alive, his mind told him. He walked over to the soldier, eyes widening in surprise when he saw the unconscious being on the ground, face framed by blonde long hair. Legolas. After Helm's Deep, the elf had not appeared wounded – at least of what he had seen. Where elves not strange beings, so that one almost could not wound them, that they healed fast and it took a great amount to kill them? In that case, the elf was seriously wounded. But he saw not any blood... He laid a hand on the elf's temple. It was warm to the touch, even though the elf's face was pale.

But he was breathing, and quite strongly so.

"He is alive," he gasped and pushed himself to his feet, lifting the elf. The soldier beside him was shifting from one foot to the other restlessly, and offered to take the elf to the healers but Éomer shook his head. "Go, gather your men and take the body of King Théoden with you to Minas Tirith," he instructed. "And send some of your men to search for Lord Aragorn." He had seen the ranger and king-to-be come, for the Dead Army was invincible only for the blind, or maybe not even them. They had been seen clearly. And that must be Aragorn's work.

"But milord, the elf..."

Éomer's face was stern. "I will take him."

He knew not why, but during the short time he had known Legolas, he had grown attached...in a distant way. He wanted to know Legolas more... There was so much he wanted to find out, needed to. And he had seen that the elf's friends had changed, after the battle of Helm's Deep they had never left Legolas' side it seemed – they protected him. But from what? He needed to know.

----

The darkness, it lay around him. This place...Where he woke up, he knew not where it were. What it was. It was so dark, so empty. He lay there in confusion before he slowly started to stand. He called out, but his voice returned to him like a hollow echo dropping down endless invincible walls. He smelled ash, fire...but could not see it. Could not see anything but this long black darkness. This place...it reminded him of something, a dark path he had taken long ago – the fog by his feet, the thick white shadows crawling across the darkness.

A soft murmuring voice echoed to him. It was warm and gentle. He tried to see, search the room, see anything, see the speaker, but there was none. First he could not make out the words. They were so far away...

He closed his eyes. The words floated clearer now. It was not a murmur...it was a song. Opening his eyes he saw only darkness again; but if he listened... He closed his eyes again, and concentrated on the voice.

_Come back._

_Come back._

He reached out for the voice but stumbled, lost his footing and now he felt his body again, he was something not only in spirit but in flesh. He hit the ground but it did not hurt, even if it was cold and hard as stone, he did not feel it. His eyes opened wide, but there was not darkness, there was light. For a moment he could not see through it, it was too bright.

_Come back._

Lifting his head, the light faded away from his sight so much that he could see. The stone beneath his naked body had turned into soft moss and grass. Buried ankle-deep in the green lush stood...someone...and from there the light seemed to come. He could not see the person's face.

_Come back._

The unknown white being kneeled by his side and offered a delicate hand. Legolas' eyes darted between the hand and the light, hesitating.

_Come. Take it._

Something was calling for him, something important. He reached up and grabbed the hand, and it was so warm and soft but also strong, and it was familiar, this hand – he knew not why, only faintly like from an old dream. Was this a dream?

_Come now, do not be afraid._

_Come._

He was heaved up, the hand holding his own in a strong firm grip, and the lush green forest around him turned into stone and long echoing caves again. When he looked at the fading white being, he remembered more clearly. For a moment he saw a pair of deep dark eyes, familliar and safe. And they reminded him of something. No, of someone. Of safety.

"Don't leave," he begged, whispering. "Don't go away."

The dark-eyed being smiled and shook his head, long hair shaking like black curtains in the wind.

_Come,_ the voice urged;_ come back now. There is no more darkness here to see._

And while Legolas stood there without voice, Egil still smiled. Fading away.

_Come..._

-----

Slowly he regained breath and could open his eyes. The world was dim around him. A sweet aroma, a smell, a taste on his tongue...it drifted about him. It almost felt like a dream. An endless good dream... The call had taken him here, but where here was, he did not know. Maybe it did not matter. For a moment he lay there on his side, surrounded by soft sheets. Silk against his skin. Silk? He had not lain on silk skin since...

Slowly, he lifted his head. The room was white, marble white. He did not recognize anything here. His right arm felt a little numb and sore, but there was none of the sharp white pain that had been there before. But where...? And how...? His brown knitted when he tried to lift his arm but found his limb protested with a shout of pain.

Suddenly he laid his arms around his stomach, the tense knot of worry in his heart staring to loosen. For a moment he lay there pressing his hands against the swollen flesh, waiting....waiting...waiting for some sign, that his child was alright. His wait was soon answered by a fluttering kick, then another, like butterfly kisses placed on his stretched skin. His child was alright. He relaxed again with a sigh of relief.

There was suddenly a knock on the door and it opened slightly at first, someone asked for permission to enter. Legolas raised his gaze, but not moving, surprise when seeing it was Éomer. The man smiled softly in greeting. Behind the man was a servant, a young human girl who gave the elf a glance mixed with awe and curiosity. Silently, she stepped inside after the lord, placing a tray on the table next to the bed. After courtesying, she left, still not saying a word.

Éomer smiled slightly and stepped closer to the bed. "I am glad to see you have woken, friend," he said. He gave the elf a questioning look, taking a seat by the bed's edge when Legolas nodded. "It was thanks to Lord Aragorn; I knew not he had such skills in healing." He gestured at the elf's arm, which lay still, and strangely pale contrasting the rest of the elf's skin, on the sheets.

Legolas' eyes widened slightly. Aragorn? Aragorn was here? Oh god, the man must be so mad at him... And Gimli would be even worse, and the twins... "Aye, he surprises sometimes," he murmured softly.

"How are you feeling?" Éomer asked, sounding really genuine, speaking in a way that Legolas had not heard him speak before. Legolas felt himself warmed by it. It was such a simple question, and he barely knew the man, yet... Éomer had called him friend. That must mean something then.

"I am well, thank you," he said. "Where is Aragorn now?"

Éomer felt slightly disappointed, but for what he was not so sure – maybe that the elf wished to see Aragorn, not him... But he did not show it. "With the halfling Merry and lord Faramir," he said, and a frown grew graving his face. "And my sister... they have been wounded."

Legolas recognized this concern and took the man's hand and squeezed it gently, to give some comfort. Aye, now he remembered... Éomer's sister had killed the Nazgûl...It must have been her; and the other cry he had heard, it must have been young Meriadoc. But Faramir...He recognized that name, but only slightly. Was that not Boromir's brother? Long ago, the man had mentioned him once or twice, before he... Legolas blinked for a moment to push the memory of his death away. He should not think of death right now. He managed a small smile at the man. "I am sure they recovers," he said, squeezing . "Estel is a master at healing."

Confusion flashed Éomer's face. "Estel?" he asked. Yet, he had not let go of Legolas' hand. It was so fragile and thin, but also if felt strong. He marveled at the softness of the elf's skin.

Legolas nodded. "Aye, Estel... That was Aragorn's name when he was young, growing up at Lord Elrond's court," he explained. "As Lord Elrond's adoptive son."

He started to grow uncomfortable, because Éomer was too near now, and the man had not let go of his hand, and was looking so intensely at him. Éomer sensed a tension build between them again and let go of the elf's hand. Legolas pushed himself up on his elbows.

Éomer nodded absently. For a moment both were silent, before Éomer stood. "Rest some, when you have time," he advised, suddenly cracking a wry smile. "For I heard that master Gimli was on his way to see you." He had watched the two, elf and dwarf, and he saw them always bickering like old friend...or old wives. The thought drove some unwanted jealousy inside of him... 'Stop it', he told himself. 'Jealous? Why? They are friends, nothing else. And Legolas is not...'

Legolas chuckled silently. It was a short silent sound but it awoke some strange feeling within the horse-lord. "I can imagine," Legolas said and gave a small nod when Éomer turned to leave.

When the door had closed behind the man Legolas shrunk back into the sheets, new questions in his mind. The smile had faded to a frown. Éomer, he had changed. He did not know, did he? A sudden fear welled up inside of him. Maybe it was not fear, maybe a worry, it that was how he could describe it – fear. He could not let them know. But soon... Éomer would find out...and Pippin – if this was Minas Tirith as he guessed it was, then the young hobbit should be here. Nearby, with Merry probably... 'Oh this is such a mess,' he though, rubbing his temples tiredly.

And now Éomer started to approach him and in the man's eyes he saw something... something... And he knew not if he should like it or dislike it, or ignore it. What did the man want with him? Did he want anything at all?

----

_**Author's note: **That chapter went rather short and quickly, but soon there's another! Yet Aragorn and Gimli has to face Legolas while he is conscious... (Oh god) :P_

_**Dwarfish/Khuzdûl:**  
Khazad! Baruk khazad ai-menu! -Dwarves! [The] axes of the dwarves are upon you!_

_**Reviews:**_

_Elinka: Hey, thanks for the review! Yeah, I'll check the grammar very throughout later... But I've noticed that's not be best I do. I mean, grammar. At least in English, lol. My bad. ... Long reviews are great :D And Legolas is (still) alive, don't worry about that, thoug, he won't be much longer. But at least give us some more time to torture him! xD_

_Nomad Princess: Thanks for reviewing again! Really? He's never going to do as told...I think... Can you imagine him as a kid? Poor Thranduil... _

_Shayna-hp: Thank you, thank you! And there's always time for more battle-scenes and all that... Do not expect this to be over yet :)_

_glostarz: Thanks :) That's the biggest battle I've written so far yet in one go I think. So happy you like it then :D_

_mikinyet: Hey! Yeah, I agree on that. Legolas is hopeless when it comes to listening and 'do as you are told', lol. And the Sea-longing ... Actually I wasn't thinking about it until I was writing about killing Nazgûls and all that, and was 'oi, he's an elf remember' and had to go back and rewrite some stuff... I wonder if Valinor somewhat connects to the Halls of Mandos (a.k.a the land of the dead)...? Well, we'll see how this goes..._


	22. Chapter 22

_**Author's note: **So, we got some more slash moments here, some interaction between Legolas and Éomer... Maybe I'm hurrying this? But I won't in the future, I think if they get a relationship going, it'll be first slow, hesitating... Legolas still hasn't let go of Egil, you know._

**----**

**Chapter 22**

----

"...Did you even _think_? Are you so mad, elf? So bloody crazy? You must really have l_ost your mind_! I'm sick of this, worrying my heart out for an elf! You are too difficult to be around! Damn this, had it not been for the horse-lord you could have been dead! Oh damnation, will you ever learn? I swear, once you recover I am going to kill you! You had us running half-way around the battlefield to search for you and we find you peacefully resting here . . . and for once when our hearts have calmed down we hear you fought a 'Wraith, of all things, came here wounded, and..."

Legolas was only half-listening to Gimli's angry, stubborn dwarf-mannered speech. He was concentrating more on Aragorn who was examining him. After a while, though, the elf turned his head towards the dwarf, who still stood yelling only now at the top of his voice.

"I _told you_I am sorry!" He said. "Do you know what the words 'silence please' mean?"

Gimli's words died away and he glared at the elf. "I _am_ going to kill you!" He said.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Oh, that is a very comforting notion, thank you."

Aragorn decided the two had had enough by now. He shook his head trying to hide his amusement with a serious face but must have failed judging by Legolas' raised eyebrow.

"Can you move your arm?" he asked.

Legolas stretched his fingers then lifted his arm. That felt easy enough. He felt somewhat stiff, and a little sore, but at least he could move. Aragorn looked pleased. Gimli, however, was not.

"Have you heard a word I said?" He demanded, half-jokingly.

"Apart from 'I will kill you'? Not so very much," Legolas said, trying to look apologetic. "I am sorry."

"At least you understood what I meant." He said, glowering.

Legolas could not suppress a chuckle, but it was only half-hearted. He felt strange now. So full of questions. And he felt tired. Only once he had said that did Gimli and Aragorn let him be without fussing over him. They told him to stay there and take some rest, to sleep. He would have a chance to see Merry and Pippin later... Later. Would that be hours, or days? He hoped for the former rather than the latter. But he assumed that Merry would be full of questions...maybe also Pippin; the two hobbits would share almost anything, why not this, news of his pregnancy...

But he could not hold back a smile as the door closed behind the man's and the dwarf's retreating backs.

-----

To his delight, Éomer came back later; yet Aragorn and Gimli forbade him to leave the room in at least a day. Despite all his protests, they didn't listen. He would stay in that room, even if they had to tie him down and lock him in. Éomer felt like a breath of fresh air. The man bought food with him, probably an excuse to bother the elf; and the others were sent away to let him rest alone.

Legolas accepted the food with a smile. It was a delicious soup which he tasted a bitter tinge in. He realized that Aragorn must have put some herbs in, just because he knew that the elf would not drink any healing teas unless Gimli threatened fetching his axe or the like to pursue him until he did. The man was strangely tense, the air around him thick. Something was odd with him. He spoke very little and his voice was strange, far away. Legolas frowned at this. He had never seen the man like this before. Éomer's face was slightly red, Legolas realized; but his breathing was normal so it could not be because he had run anywhere.

"I heard ... rumours." Éomer spoke up suddenly.

Legolas looked up from his soup. The man was gazing intensely at him. Rumours . . . wait, did that mean . . .? For some reason, he felt no longer afraid to tell the man the truth. He just waited for the right moment.

"What rumours?" he asked.

The man was fidgeting with his hands – was he nervous? Legolas was not calmed by it, rather, he grew nervous as well from this small action.

"That you were . . . carrying child." Éomer's voice was quick and slightly hushed as he said it, as if he were afraid that he might be heard.

Legolas regarded him for a moment then asked, "Where did you hear this, pray tell?"

"In Edoras not long ago." Said Éomer, feeling extremely foolish.

To his surprise, a soft smile spread over Legolas' face. A smile. It was a confirmation. Then the elf put away the bowl of food and instead took his hand, guiding it to his abdomen, the one thing that Éomer had during the last hour avoided looking at. The shirt Legolas wore was fitted tightly upon his body revealing a swell, and then he had remembered those words that had reached his ears. First he thought it lies. Then war took his mind away from that matter, he pushed it away, but now it was back.

Legolas sought Éomer's face, happy when he saw no anger just disbelief, and some doubt, but that was what he had expected from the man and of Mankind.

"Is this why you have been standing always more than three feet away from me, blushing, since you stepped into this room an hour ago?" He asked, still smiling and raising a delicate eyebrow. "You could have asked earlier; I have wondered why you kept glancing at me." _If only it was for another reason,_ a small voice in his mind lured. _Another reason..._No. No.

Éomer managed a small chuckle.

"So you mean I was being childish then, staring instead of asking?"

His gaze darted from Legolas' face to his abdomen, where their hands were still resting on top of each other. Legolas' hands were soft and warm like a newborn's, and that moment he seemed so fragile and delicate, with those pale hands.

"Aye, you were." Legolas said.

Their voices dropped now when they were so close to each other. Nervousness still tugged at him, but it washed away when Éomer's eyes met his. That gleam he had seen not long ago, it was there again. Their voices fell away. They just stood there, hands still clasped, bodies near one another's, breathing the other's breath.

Éomer leaned in, slowly, eyes starting to flutter closed. Their breaths both quickened. Legolas found himself leaning in as well, the conversation they had just had forgotten. Hands moved over his belly, up and to his back, pulling him closer, arms encircling him; the man's lips brushed over his own.

That moment instincts and panic took over Legolas mind and he pushed the man away.

"No, no. I cannot do this." He gasped, hurrying with a racing heart from the man's grasp and the room.

Éomer did not stare anymore, not at his retreating back. He stood still and his heart beat just as fast as the elf's. Why had he done that? Why couldn't he resist? Why?! Now he had scared Legolas away or perhaps made him angry or frustrated. Or both. Would Legolas forgive him for what he had done? Or had he just ruined the thin friendship they held? _But he had been so close, _he thought. Just _right there, right in front of me . . ._ He was so confused. And he could not let go of Legolas yet. In his mind he still held the elf in his arms, and it left even more confusion in him.

----

Legolas rushed out of the room, only to realize he knew nothing of this place and was lost in these corridors of white stone. Behind him was Éomer, and there was no way he could face him. Not now.

How could the man have sensed so well what he . . . Or did he . . .

No. Now he was being foolish. They could not feel like this, mutually, and . . . No. Not so soon.

On his right hand continued a corridor with more doors, but to his left the corridor opened wider, there was more light. He chose the left corridor, finding it opened up soon to pillars and a balcony. It was wide but simple, holding a very small garden. There were no trees, just a few bushes and herbs, stone sculptures of human design and in the middle was placed a small fountain.

He walked over to the balcony's edge. Below, the large wide field opened up for endless miles. But it was now covered in dust and death, a large battlefield, people moving around endlessly trying to clear the plains. In the horizon he saw dark clouds and mountains. Mordor. Darkness still hung around them here . . . even though it was now weakened since the defeat here at Minas Tirith.

The wind blew cold upon his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to forget Éomer, the moment of such closeness, his voice . . .But it was impossible. It hurt because he was so confused, unsure of what he felt. Éomer was . . . It was so complex. Could his heart have a place for one more as well? Éomer was not taking Egil's place – Egil was forever with him, forever his, and he forever Egil's. But part of him now longed for another and he felt those feelings were growing, as burning and real as the ones he held for Egil.

Could he love two?

He had no answer for that question yet. It felt like he had just managed to work himself free from one web to be caught in another. Egil was gone now. But yet he was right here, in his heart. But Egil was . . . had been . . . Egil had been his everything. And now? Now he did not know. Not anymore.

And what of Éomer, what did he feel for him? Surely he must feel differently? He was one of Mankind, a mortal . . . their feelings . . .they were not different, yet very different. Yet it felt he barely knew Éomer, that he had just seen the surface of a Man . . . any man . . . No, not any man. He was... What was he?

He did not know.

He knew he had to stop this. These thoughts, all these questions, everything, this madness. Somehow he had to put an end to it. But how?

He did not know how.

How he felt . . . what he felt . . . how to stop it . . . It was an endless circle. It needed to end. But it would not. He wished Éomer was here. Just here, for no reason at all. Maybe he could explain. Maybe Éomer held some answers that he sought. Maybe . . .

Footsteps drifted over to him. He heard them first running then slowing down abruptly. He did not doubt who it was. He did not turn to look at the man, who slowly, hesitantly, came to his side.

"I am sorry for what I did." Éomer said softly.

Legolas shook his head. "Do not . . . do not apologize." He murmured.

Éomer said nothing. Legolas didn't look at him. He turned to leave, but was hindered when the elf grabbed his wrist. His grip was gently but firm. Legolas knew not what to say. He simply wanted . . . wanted him to stay, to be near. Later they would speak, find out what was happening. But not now.

"Stay." He murmured.

The man obeyed, turning to face him again. For a moment, the two of them stood there gazing at one another. Legolas read Éomer's face and saw the same confusion as his own in the man.

Éomer was even more confused. He expected Legolas to lash out at him. He had nearly kissed him – and Legolas was . . . he was . . . He was pregnant. That meant he must have a lover, or a husband, _someone_out there. He could not just kiss him! He was so surprised when Legolas stopped him from leaving he could not speak. And even more so when Legolas moved closer and embraced him.

What was happening between them? He needed to know . . .

"Why?" He asked softly. He could not stop himself laying his arms loosely around Legolas' bulging waist.

"I do not know," Legolas whispered back, "but do not go."

Éomer stood in silence. Holding him. He did not leave.

------

"I think I could eat a mountain right now." Merry sighed. "A mountain of mushrooms, nice crispy bacon, fried eggs, sausages, red tomatoes, even some strawberries and fresh milk . . ."

Pippin swatted him over the head. "You're making me hungry too!" He cried. "At least be silent for two moments. Maybe the kitchens can make something good for two starving hobbits?" He said with a grin.

One lunch later they sat sated on a bench in one of the small gardens outside the Houses of Healing, smoking their pipes and retelling old adventures and sharing jokes with each other. It felt almost like being back in the Shire, though they missed the ale in the Green Dragon; but right now everything felt perfect and they were happy being back with each other. Pippin gave his account of the battle of Minas Tirith and told his friend of Faramir, Denethor and Gandalf and also his ride here with the wizard. In turn, Merry told him of what had happened since Pippin had left Edoras.

"That must be . . ." he quickly counted on his fingers, ". . . just two weeks ago. Can you imagine? It feels like a year then and now it seems like a day."

Pippin nodded, looking over the garden. They could only see sky and mountain peaks beyond the walls around the gardens. But far away he thought he saw a shadow among those mountains. Mordor . . . He shivered.

"I wonder where Frodo is now . . . if he is all right?" He murmured.

Merry's smile faded slightly thinking about Frodo and what could have happened to him. He followed Pippin's gaze with his own.

"I hope he is all right." He said.

"Faramir told Gandalf just a few days ago that Frodo would take some road that Gandalf didn't like." Pippin said. "The Murgol Vale . . . and the pass of Cirith Ungûl, I think it was. It must be really dreadful for there was fear in Gandalf's eyes."

"I miss him." Merry said. "And Gandalf as well. Where is he now?" He asked suddenly.

It had been several hours since he had last seen the man, or what he now was – the hobbit frowned suddenly, wondering _what_Gandalf really was. He was a wizard, yes, but no man, he was far too old for that. And no elf, and definitely no dwarf . . . He had to ask sometime later.

Pippin frowned. "I haven't seen him for hours. Maybe he is with the Big Folk in some long, awfully boring council or he must be sitting somewhere in a high tower lost in his wizard-thoughts."

"I know where he is." Said a voice, suddenly. Gimli!

Both hobbits cheered and turned to meet the dwarf, who gave a small nod to them and a wide grin.

"Yes hello there, laddies!" He greeted. "Gandalf is indeed in a long, awfully boring council meeting right now. Aragorn is there as well if you wondered. I was sent to find Lord Éomer, wherever he now is, to gather him as well. Have you by chance seen him?"

Pippin shook his head. He had not seen the horse-lord or did not remember seeing him since Edoras. But Merry pointed up at the white buildings, at a balcony above them. There stood indeed Lord Éomer, but he was not alone.

Pippin's eyes widened when he saw Legolas. He had not seen the elf in a very long time, and Merry had not spoken much of him yet, and the others forbade almost anyone to see him. He was wounded, they said, and needed to rest. The elf stood in the arms of the horse-lord, both still and staring out at the horizon, maybe at nothing. The embrace was strange, not one of two friends, too intimidate for that. That was the closest Pippin had seen Legolas to anyone before, unless when he was killing orcs. The elf had seemed to avoid all bodily contact. Now he stood there calm and steady . . . The sun gleamed off his long blonde hair, making it look like spun from gold.

They were lovers? He had never guessed that . . .

Gimli seemed surprised as well, and grumbled something beneath his breath.

"As much as I would like not to interrupt those two, Gandalf said that this meeting was very urgent and lord Éomer was most needed." He said. "And that blasted elf should be asleep. We really should have locked him up somewhere." With that he took good-bye and left.

Pippin looked curiously at the elf and man, who seemed unaware of the attention they were getting.

"I didn't know they were lovers." He said.

"Neither did I." Merry said. "Maybe they aren't. Maybe you should ask."

The younger hobbit gave him a look as if he was ridiculous then shook his head. When he did not speak, Merry spoke instead.

"Do you remember in Edoras, when we heard that shouting?"

". . . Hmmmm. Yes, I remember," Pippin answered. "Why?"

"I have found out what it meant." Merry said. "With child - it is Legolas."

Pippin's eyebrows rose impossibly high up his temples. He was not so sure how to take this news. Legolas . . . child . . . with child. He's an elf! He reminded himself. Surely they must have some ability to . . . to . . . He had actually never seen many female elves. Just a handful, in the shadows of the trees in Rivendell and Lothlórien. Most appeared to be male.

Merry waited for Pippin to say something. Pippin was still staring but not looking so shocked anymore. His gaze went from Merry to the elf on the balcony. He and Éomer had now separated and the horse-lord seemed to be speaking to someone else, though he could not see who. He guessed it was Gimli, who was too short to be seen from here. With a last look over his shoulder at Legolas, the man followed the dwarf, somewhat unwillingly. The elf stood there for a moment, staring at the building and appearing lost in thought, before he too disappeared from view. Finally, he broke the silence.

"That is wonderful news!" He said happily, his face breaking into a huge grin. "How far along? We must go congratulate him!"

Merry smiled as well. This was so much like Pippin, who was still too young to understand that the reaction would have been so much different from an elder.

"Should we break the rules and go visit him?" He suggested. "He was up and about anyway, and maybe he'll tell us more before Gimli makes him rest again."

"And locks him up." Pippin said, remembering the dwarf's words.

-----

Seeing Éomer disappear into the corridor, Legolas sighed. He had so many questions in his mind, so much he needed to say . . . to find out . . . Gimli had come at the most unfortunate moment, but Gandalf had said it was important, and of course it would be more important than an embrace, a . . .

Éomer had held him them. Maybe out of instinct . . . but what if, what if it meant something? And when he almost kissed him? Did that mean something? It did mean something . . . _I must tell him_, he decided silently, _about Egil... He must know if we will ever . . ._

He shook his head. He needed time to think, but that did not seem to help to clear his mind. After a moment of standing in the wind alone, he returned into the corridor, and found his way back to the chamber where he had rested without any trouble. Maybe Aragorn had made sure that a garden, even though small, would be near when he rested . . . typically Aragorn.

He felt lonely now. Truly lonely. What should he do? Sleep? He did not feel tired. At least not in body. He was tired in his soul. He sat down on the bed, waiting . . . but knew not for what. Then he stood and shed his garments, until he wore nothing but his dark leggings. The room was too warm. Taking off his shirt had taken a while, as his still slightly numb fingers would not always cooperate, and his mind was still so far away, so confused.

Unclothed he felt so large. His belly had grown so much already, and he felt so big and clumsy. He could not imagine himself during the last month, it just seemed impossible. With a sigh he slid under the covers, but he could not relax and fall asleep. Éomer was still on his mind. Éomer, Egil, his father. His father would be so angry, furious. And Egil...Was this wrong? To take another lover so quickly? Could he and Éomer even become lovers? Thranduil would hate him...  
He found no sleep, no rest. He lay there staring at the ceiling... He wanted to be outside again, feel the fresh air in his face, but then again, Gimli would be mad, and Aragorn – impossible...

There was a knock on the door. Startled he sat up and reached out for his clothes which he had unceremoniously had left on the floor; depending on who was behind that door it would be inappropriate to lie here naked. Would it not? Men were always so silent about nakedness, hiding beneath layers of clothing, even under a warm summer sun. Dwarves must be even worse, Gimli had not yet taken off his chain-mail one single time of what he could remember. He had just managed to slip on his leggings and his shirt still hung loosely and unbuttoned over his shoulders, when there was another knock and the door opened, not to reveal a man or a dwarf, but two hobbits.

Merry and Pippin where talking endlessly with each other, one of them yet holding a pipe in his hand, refusing to let it go. The eldest one was the one opening the door, leaning against the knob. When seeing Legolas, they quieted, though Merry continued glaring at Pippin and his pipe.

Legolas was surprised to see them, he had not seen them for a very long time at least in the mortals' ways of seeing it. And even more surprised seeing that Pippin wore black and silver, and in hi clothing was an embroidery of the white tree surrounded by stars – the hobbit was a part of the Gondorian guard, but how that had come of happen, the elf didn't know.

"Hello, Merry, Pippin," the elf acknowledged with a smile. "How good to see you!"

Merry's glare softened and turned to the elf. "We'd come to visit you, if you don't mind," he said. Behind him Pippin was bouncing on his heels.

Ah these young ones...so much energy. But it was good, better than laying alone and restless. Seeing both their gazes on his stomach, he guessed Pippin knew as well. He let them inside. "Feel like home," Legolas added playfully. Not because this was much like a home. The room was too empty for that.

Legolas took his by the bed's edge, with crossed legs. Pippin stopped bouncing and instead came to in front of him, Merry just by his side. The elder hobbit was gingerly touching his own arm.

"Are you well?" Legolas asked.

Merry grinned. "I'm feeling very well by now, though, the healers say I must stay another day. How about you? I heard you as well stabbed the..." He shivered remembering the terrible creature. "The Ringwraith."

Legolas nodded. "And I doubt Aragorn will let me out of here in a long time," he said, smiling slightly.

"Gimli said he'd lock you up," Pippin said. "All by himself."

At this Legolas could not hold back a laugh. "I can imagine," he said. "How are they, Gimli and Aragorn? I have not heard of them or seen them for over a day now."

Merry scratched his chin. "They're holding a council with the city's elders and lords," he said. "Gandalf is there as well, I think. I do not know what they are planning, but whatever it is, I don't think they'll let us be a part of it. Gimli came to find lord Éomer for it, but he would not reveal what it all was about."

"Maybe some battle-council," Pippin suggested, a little absently. "The shadow in the East is still there..."

"Aye," Legolas said with a nod.

Silence fell over them for a while, they wondered what would happen and what would be decided without their knowledge. But then Pippin shook his head and his eyes cleared when he smiled. "Now, I don't wish to sit here glowering just because of that," he said and turned to look at Legolas. "You're one of the lucky ones!"

Legolas frowned, but his face lightened when the hobbit pressed a delicate hand to his belly. The slight pressure was answered by small kick. Pippin's eyes widened. "Isn't it uncomfortable?" he asked after a small moment. "At least I would think it is."

Legolas laughed. "It is uncomfortable, sometimes," he admitted. "But it is wonderful, because I'll bring a new life to the world."

"I guess that," Merry said and he too laid a hand on the elf's belly. "How far along are you?" he asked.

Quickly, the elf counted the weeks up to now, realizing how much time that had passed already. There was not much time left. "In the seventh," he said, grinning when he felt the child inside him move again, probably wondering what strange things it were pressing gently onto his stomach.

"Oh, so in two months, you'll...?" Pippin blushed and stopped when he was about to say 'give birth', because it sounded really strange to say it to a male.

"Actually, in five," Legolas said. At the hobbits' widened eyes he explained. "Elves are pregnant for twelve months, as we age slowed."

"Much slower," Merry said. Then he suddenly asked, "How old are you? I've always wondered that, because sometimes you seem like Gandalf, but yet you always look younger than even Pippin. If you don't mind asking, though." At that, said hobbit glared at him. "I'm not that young!" he accused. "I'm soon of age!"

Legolas smiled. It was actually wonderful to have young people around him. All right, most people near him now except Gandalf and the twins were younger than him, much younger, but halflings seemed gifted with a long young life, like children even when adult. "I am quite old, but young for my people," he said. "In most elves eyes I _am_ a youngster, saying I looked I've just come of age. But I am almost 2100 years old."

"Isn't it boring, living so long?" Pippin asked. "I mean...there's not much left to see, or do, and I cannot imagine playing a game after some hundred years and still thinking it as fun as it was before..."

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "The world always change," he said. "There is always something new to explore, new lands found, new animals, or adventures... But it is sad to know that some of my friends, you, Gimli, Aragorn, will pass on long before I do. But then I will sail, I think, with the rest of my people...When I find nothing in Arda left to be here for. Soon the Age of Men will come, after all. Elves will pass away."

The hobbits nodded solemnly, suddenly saddened when they realized that Legolas was right and would live on, immortal as he was. Or maybe he would sail away like the rest of his people.

"Don't sail," Pippin said. "If you do, the world will become so gray and boring. There are some who needs you, Legolas, even a few dwarves like Gimli. Don't sail!"

"You can come with us to the Shire after all this," Merry suggested happily. "Maybe we can pursue them helping us build an elf-sized house for you there, and for you child of course," he added.

"In the party-tree! Or some other tree, like they do in Lothlórien," Pippin added.

Legolas chuckled, but yet he felt a growing sadness inside of him, because they would die one day – by sword or old age or sickness, like mortals do. And that meant, Éomer would... No. Why should he ruin this moment? "My dear hobbits, I will not sail in a very long time. I would be honored to live with the _perian_ for a time, though your land may be too small for an elf like me," he added with a huge smile.

"Your child would have more uncles and aunts than what he or she could ever dream of," Merry teased. "But if you do not wish to live in the Shire, you can at least come visit us now and then. You will, won't you?"

"You have my promise,_ penneriath_," Legolas said with a laugh. Pippin suddenly bounced up, hearing the door open. There was Gimli, who looked surprised at the sight of an elf and two hobbits sitting on the bed, talking and smiling. One of the smaller creatures' hands lay on the elf's swollen belly.

"What is this?" he asked and suddenly shot Legolas a glare, trying to look serious while fighting a laugh. "Should you not be asleep? Maybe I should fetch my axe and some ten guards for the citiatel just to watch over you?"

"Don't worry, master Gimli, there is already one of the guards here," Pippin grinned and drew the sword that hung in his belt. Legolas laughed at the dwarf's miserable face. Pippin sheathed his sword and sat down again.

"Come Gimli, join us. Tell what you might now have to tell," Legolas said, then added; "If you are still capable of such a thing."

"Oh shut it, elf," Gimli said but in a teasing tone. "While you have been sitting here doing nothing good, I have been walking around this plentiful city; good handiwork yes but with some hundred of my dwarves and a year and I would make this city more strong and beautiful than ever."

"Why waste so much energy on stone?" Legolas asked. "Why not make beautiful gardens instead? This city would definitely need it, if it is made just from stone."

Gimli ignored the remark and the hobbits' snickering faces. "And also, I have some news from Aragorn. He and Gandalf has with some of the lords here decided they will ride toward the Black Gates of Mordor. And no, you will not come with us," he added looking sharply at Legolas, who managed to look a little guilty. Still the dwarf and Aragorn had probably not forgiven him for sneaking away into the fight like that.

"What?" Pippin asked with wide eyes. "The Black Gates? Why would they go there?" It must be a really dreadful place, the gates into Mordor.

"To help Frodo," Gimli said and explained the plan. "We will distract the enemy's eye so that our dear hobbit will have time to destroy this evil once and for all. It will be harder than it sounds. And Pippin, be honored that we have decided that you shall go with us. There is at least one representative for each race; Pippin for the hobbits, me for the dwarves, the twin sons of Elrond for the elves. There are plenty of men already. They are preparing to leave as we speak. I came to say good-bye for now, and fetch young Peregrin Took, as Gandalf told me."

Pippin looked downfallen. "I want to go with them!" Merry complained. "Why can't I? I feel perfectly healthy!"

"Feeling and being are different things," Pippin said.

"You can stay keeping the elf company, and lock him in for a moment, or he will sneak out anyway after us. That is just a warning," Gimli teased.

Legolas could only sigh. So they would leave now. Maybe they would all die they, if they were not lucky, and Éomer would...Éomer could die, he was sure the horse-lord would go with them.

He did not wish him to die. He did not wish anyone of them to die.

---

_**Author's notes**: That's it for now. Thanks to my beta, glostarz (who betaed a big part of this chapter)._

_**Elvish:**_

_Perian – Halfling(s)_

_Penneriath – Little halfling_

_**Reviewers:**_

_Eressie: Thanks, glad you like! And I share that feeling as well..._

_nc619: There is possible romance here, can't we all feel it? In time, we'll learn more...and the others will learn more as well about Legolas and the father...We'll see. Hope to see more of ya, thanks for reviewing :)_

_Nomad Princess: They almost killed him! Luckily, they didn't. Aragorn acts calm right now but soon he will explode as well. He's just more patient than Gimli, heh. Happy you like again!_

_Elinka: Thanks, and thanks! And in the future typos should be fixed thanks to my wonderful beta :)glad you like yet again !_

_glostarz: Thanks so much for beta'ing! :D And yeah Legolas is growing, and I've been pretty stupid not realizing how much and all that. While battling, he was not so slim you realize. But Idn't think the orcs care so much about that. And when Éomer found him, he was too worried about him and his sister and the battle to think about it, I guess... :P More coming soon!_

_mikinyet: He survived the battle...AND meeting Aragorn and Gimli afterwards... lol. Anyway, more will come soon! Thanks for the review!_


	23. Chapter 23

**Note: Now, this is beta'd! Thanks to glostarz, lovely, lovely!**

_**Author's notes: **So, for a moment, Gimli has managed having Legolas staying where he should be (or rather, where they want him to be). Now I realize there hasn't been so many dreams of Legolas' for a while, which is starting to worrying me; I'd almost forgot!  
Sorry if I have confused you with calling Elladan and Elrohir 'elves'. They are half-elves of course but lazy me, I just wrote the second half. There maybe is some confusion left below. My bad._

_There's also a sort of trailer I've done for this now, here's the link: http://www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=TCBQxvw3BCY_

_By the way, a slightly off-topic note, I have found and started writing again on an original piece of mine. I haven't uploaded at any larger archive yet (like FictionPress-dot-com) but you can find it here, if you have some time to check it out: www(.)webs(.)deliverer(.)com . That was off-topic, I think. Apologize for all that advertisement on that site...Maybe should I use some other host next time, huh. Well, off to this fic - to something completely different. _

**----**

**Chapter 23**

**----**

**

There was not complete darkness this time, no old echoing caves, no. There was light, a dim light that grew stronger. Torches were lined up against an otherwise empty wall. A corridor. He recognized this corridor. From here he could even hear that whispering. Whispering and muttering like a poison in the back of his mind. He saw not the speaker, and he saw not the end of the corridor. His hesitating steps grew faster, he looked here, there, tried to search for the speaker. The voice increased in volume, whispering still, and other even more familiar voices joined it. And there were pale, unrecognizable faces in the shadows. They stared at him with their piercing eyes, full of hate, shame, disgust, disappointment.

"What are you doing here?" They said. "You are not welcome."

"You are not welcome here."

"Something as dirty as you . . ."

"Go away. _Go_."

His breath came in ragged gasps. He ran, but there was no way out and the voices followed by his heels.

"Yes, that's right. Run."

Run.

_Run._

The voices followed, feeling like they were glued to his skin. The speakers were clear now and it frightened him even more.

"There is no one here to help you."

_Run._

The world started to spin around him. He could not regain his breath or speak. They reached out; he backed away in fear, and they continued with their accusing.

"Go away."

He tried. Tried to flee.

"Why did you come here? You are a shame and nothing more."

_Please, understand . . . _He begged but they would not listen.

"Run now, _run_, and do not come back!"

Do not come back.

Run.

_Run._

The world was a blur before his eyes. He turned here, then there, tried to get away, turned around and around. But they were still there. They followed. The ground beneath his feet felt like glass.

"Run, whore! That is what you are is it not - a whore?"

His heart pounded so loud in his chest it hurt.

"Go! Go now! Never show your dirty face here again!"

And then came a voice which almost broke him to tears, it was too near, too near to his heart.

"I am ashamed to call you my son!"

His knees felt so weak, they almost gave away. The corridor no longer like a corridor, it was a haze and it spun with his confusion. He saw faces and hands reaching out. He panicked so much that he could not breathe anymore. There were no doors, no windows. _There should not be any windows here_; his mind registered, as panic started to grow inside of him. _But doors . . . there should be doors!_

As if on clue one appeared right in front of him, and the corridor ended with a wall of stone that he saw no way beyond. He did not hesitate before he grabbed the door and opened it with all his force, using his panic to give him extra strength. But there was no room on the other side, no other corridor.

It was a battlefield. Dust and bodies and smoke, weapons glinting in weak struggling sunlight. For a moment a white light shone over the battle front, blinding him. But it was silent,_so silent_, like all air had been stolen away. It had been stolen from his lungs. He could not breathe.

The voices behind him reached forward and grasped him hard, and he cried and fought their hands, their wills. He threw himself from their grasp and landed hard on the ground like a rag doll. And then, they died away – he was crying tears of pure panic he could not hold back anymore. His breathing was weak, struggling, trembling like his body and his soul.

A sword was buried in the harsh sand where he was lying, and he glanced up, breath still coming weakly. There was no one there. Just shadows, and the battle seemed even further away. In front of the two armies he now saw a large gate, and he saw not the sky above it – not any sky but only black hovering clouds. The largest army was black, all black, and the other was silver and brown and their shields held stars and a white tree. And they were failing, falling dead or dying to the ground.

The sword still stood there in front of him. Trembling slightly. Waiting to be grasped, to be wielded in battle. Waiting for _h__im_. The sunlight reflected on the still clean and shining blade. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out, stretched his hand, his fingers. Should he really? There were not many other choices.

The blade continued calling for him.

Behind him the voices still echoed.

_Run._

_Run._

He was so close now; but just as he had grasped the weapon and was about to stand, pull it up from the sand, a loud cry of pain rose over the battlefield. He looked up, and his eyes widened in shock, full of fear.

Terrified, he saw Éomer fall.

A blade pierced the man's chest. Blood covered the ground; his and many others'. Legolas tried to cry out, to scream, but found he had no voice. And then Aragorn lost his footing, fell as well into the dirt, and he was lost from sight.

No!_No!_

Petrified, Legolas' grip of the blade loosened, and it fell to the ground with a heavy sigh. The sound of clinging steel echoed in his ears. And then everything happened so fast. Aragorn was seen again, and time went quickly and backwards, and the men that had died were alive again, fighting, and Éomer . . . Éomer was whole and alive, and no blood covered the ground anymore.

An instinct to help and to fight claimed Legolas' mind. He bent down and grabbed the sword. Then it happened again. When he saw Éomer and Aragorn fall, when he saw even small Pippin die and Gimli pass away with hundreds of men, dark spots started to dance before his eyes. Dark laughter filled his ears, hovering around him and drowning him like the dark clouds above.

_No__, please, no!_

"Aragorn!_Éomer_!"

A small voice in his mind reminded him again of many months earlier, dreams earlier, when . . .

_Egil._

The sword slid from his grasp and time went backwards.

**

Legolas awoke sweating and trembling, tangled in the sheets. His eyes wide, he stared up ahead and tried to find his breath and remember where he was. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, and when he sat up his muscles protested, like he had run a hundred miles without food or rest. He felt as if he had no strength left.

"Legolas?"

At the worried voice he snapped his head up. In the lit doorway Elladan stood with a worried look on his face.

"Elladan." He gasped. His eyes were still wide and his breath trembling.

The twin moved inside. "Are you all right?" He asked. "What happened?"

He was concerned now. He had not seen Legolas for a time, being busy, and his heart clenched when he realized he and Elrohir had to go without their friend. They would have to leave him here. Legolas would be worried about them all. Surely he would try to persuade the healers and the guards that he was fine, that he could go, that he should fight.

"It was nothing . . . just a dream," Legolas muttered but accepted when the twin helped him to sit more comfortably, leaning against the pillows. He avoided looking into Elladan's eyes.

"You are a worse liar right now than you have ever been." Elladan smirked. "Even a thousand years ago you were never this bad."

Legolas could not resist the urge to thwack him across the head. The twin smiled teasingly while he rubbed the offended spot above his temple, even though the hit had been gentle so that it felt not more than a breath of air.

"You are saying _what _now, are you?"

"That you are a bad liar." Elladan said, rolling his eyes, his tone bored. This was an old argument, and again and again they tried to find out who would win it this time.

"Says you who-"

"You are getting off the point." Elladan interrupted, supplying; "You said you had dreamt."

"It was just a dream." Legolas argued.

He was tired of this. Why could he not just be left alone? He had just . . . He sighed. But Elladan knew, he knew so well. There was no way out of this one.

"I know! That is why it is so important!" Elladan demanded. "You think me so blind, Legolas? Something is wrong. Was it another one?" When Legolas nodded mutely Elladan looked both worried and satisfied. "So tell me. What was it about?" The blond elf lowered his eyes and looked away. "_Legolas_."

Legolas suddenly looked up with a sharp glare but the dark-haired elf did not flinch.

"_Elladan._" He retorted in the same tone. "I said it was nothing! All right? _Nothing._Is that even a word of your vocabulary?!"

"Fine then." Elladan snapped and stood up, finally having lost his temper. "Have it your way. But do not expect me to come back."

With that he turned on his heels and left the room, not closing the door after himself. It stood open wide, letting a sharp yellow light from the corridor outside into the room that fell on the bed.

Legolas sank back into the pillows. He should not have done that, not have continued teasing and testing the other elf, he should have just . . . told him. There was so much he should have done! _Should_ have. But could not. The past could not be changed . . . His sigh came out as a weak cry, he had no idea what to do, what would happen . . .

The dream. The dream _could_ happen. Of course it could. And then what? If Éomer died . . . His heart clenched at the thought. And if he lost Gimli and Pippin as well, he could not take it, he knew. And Aragorn . . . Aragorn could not be lost. His friend, his brother, but most important of all – the future King of Men. Without him, what hope would the race of Men and the whole world have left? None. He was the Hope, he was born it.

He pulled the covers tightly around himself. The Hope of Men. His own hope had gone. Maybe he would lose another as well.

----

The city was full of life, an ever-going cycle. People were running around repairing, helping, tending, doing. Éomer did not know half of it. During the council with Gandalf and Aragorn he had been far away, his mind still with Legolas. The embrace, when they almost kissed . . . He only half-listened to their voices. And now he stood here, restlessly waiting. It would be some hours before they would leave. Time could not be spared but some things had to be done. Except, he hadn't anything to do.

Éowyn. He needed to see Éowyn, his dear sister. She was all right, the healers had said. He had seen Aragorn himself heal her – the hand s of the king were the hands of a healer, that was true. He had not seen her for a time as she was yet in need of rest. Still he wondered_why,_why would she go into battle, why not stay safe? Why would just she become wounded? Why . . .

S he was peacefully asleep, something he had not seen her doing in a very long time, as he reached her chambers. Still slightly pale, but all right, her breathing relaxed. She did not stir when he gently reached out and touched her head, stroking her smooth brow and soft hair. But she murmured something incomprehensible and sighed. She did not seem restless, though. The sight of his sister, one thing that he treasured so much, calmed his heart. She was safe and would be safe now when he rode into battle. For long moments he sat there, touching her hair, murmuring to her and holding her hand. It was a silent good-bye.

He did not know if he would come back.

When he left her again he first though of going to see some of his men, or maybe Aragorn. But then a hand lay on his shoulder. Startled he turned, surprised when he saw a wise but ageless face. An elf, but not Legolas. This one was slightly older, his face framed by dark hair. Ah, one of the twin sons of Elrond. Yet he had a slightly hard time telling them apart. They were too much alike.

"Lord Elladan." He greeted.

The half-elf smiled but shook his head. "Actually, it is Elrohir, milord." He said. "But no offence is taken. I was on my way to visit my friend Legolas. Perhaps you would like to come with me?" He asked. "I am sure he will be glad to see you." He added, trying to hide a smile.

The hobbits and Gimli had not been the only ones to see the horse-lord and golden elf on that balcony. Elrohir could see it in the man's eyes, he was confused but desired Legolas. This was no surprise of course. Legolas was attractive Elrohir had to admit; what surprised him was that Legolas seemed ready to accept such a bond between himself and Éomer.

Éomer hesitated upon hearing what Elrohir hinted at. But, he was a friend of Legolas' . . . the elf perhaps had told him and his twin about . . . But he gave in. He knew not why. But he had to see Legolas, this desire had started to grow several hours before.

"I will come." He said. Maybe on the way, he could learn some more of Elrohir as well.

"You have known him, Legolas, a long time, I can guess?" He said as he fell into step with the half-elf.

Elrohir nodded. "Half of my life." He said. "And that is quite a time. First time myself and Elladan, my brother, met him, he was a mere infant. He had just learned how to talk; he never really got my name right at that time." He chuckled at the memory of a small child surrounded by golden locks, shyly hiding behind King Thranduil's legs. "Ehtoay. That was what Legolas had called me then; Ehtoay."

Éomer smiled, yet he could not really imagine Legolas as a child – he looked forever young, like he had no childhood just like he would never be old, not really . . . He let the half-elf continue.

"Ai, he was shy back then, refusing to open his eyes to Rivendell and its inhabitants at first. He hid behind his father's leg and buried his face in his mother's dress, as if it could make him invisible. Back then I had already come of age." Elrohir said, still with laughter in his eyes. "To our surprise Legolas could see me and my brother apart on the first glance. Not even King Thranduil managed that."

Now that was something Éomer could imagine. And if Legolas had now known the twins whole his life . . . over two thousand years he recalled . . . then the twins would know him very well. And he the twins. It was hard to think that they had been friends longer than the house of Eorl had existed.

"As he grew he opened up for us. He is like a book to read. And full of mischief he was. Ai, his father would always blame me and my brother for his behaviour." He laughed. "My father did not like it at all."

"I have heard that Rivendell and Mirkwood are not the best of comrades and neighbours?" Éomer said softly.

Elrohir nodded. "It is true. This meeting between my family and Legolas' was one of chance, a hope to build a stronger bond. When times were safer King Thranduil would allow Legolas to travel to Rivendell to live there for some time – months, sometimes whole years. He though it good as then Legolas, being the first child born in Mirkwood for generations, would be familiar to many cultures. Elven, that is."

"There must not be many Elven children." Éomer said suddenly, finding that concept strange. There might be fewer children among his own people now, yes, but yet there was always at least one in each household. "You said Legolas was the first born for generations?"

"Aye, that is true." Suddenly Elrohir's smile saddened and his voice lowered some. "Unfortunately, he was also the last . . . There have not been any other Elven children born since; only one in Lothlórien, I have heard. I never met the child or the mother though." But then he looked up with smiling eyes. "Though to think about it, there will soon be one more . . ."

_----_

Gimli was angry now. At the horse. Damn the elf to have such a fierce, reckless, stupid beast. And they had to ride to Mordor. The horse was not very fond of him in turn, and refused to have the dwarf on his back.

"Glad to know the feeling's mutual." He muttered.

The horse snorted and turned away. Laughter floated over to him. Surprised, Gimli glared up but his face softened slightly when he saw Aragorn carrying a saddle in his arms toward his own steed.

"Do you need any help, friend Gimli?" He asked.

Gimli muttered under his breath and shook his head. "No. Can I not handle this on my own I am no longer a dwarf."

Aragorn hid a grin and a chuckle as he turned his back toward the struggling dwarf to saddle Hausfeld. Unlike Arod, the darker steed was calm under his master's touch. Arod whined and tramped with his hooves, moving restlessly as Gimli moved closer to him with a saddle, not acting if it was a dwarf coming closer but rather a warg. The horse refused. Gimli heaved a sigh, but continued. Minutes passed. Arod still refused.

"All right! But I am not giving up." he reminded the horse. "Come on, you stinky creature! Give this dwarf a chance!"

Arod seemed to smirk at him. Behind them Aragorn did, but he managed to hold back a laugh. He had already saddled and prepared his steed for the journey. The ride to the gates would take up to four days. The man was now dressed in armour and a dark vest bearing the white tree of Gondor. Over his back he no longer had the cloak from Lothlórien but a long black mantle. His sword, Andrúil hung by his hip and he rested his hand on the handle.

"Send me a messenger when you are done, master dwarf," he said with a teasing tone, "if you are still refusing my help. I am about to go visiting Legolas, and thought perhaps you would like to come with me. But take your time!" He added with a grin.

Gimli swore but turned to the man with a smile on the edge of frustration. "I'll come with you." He said. "I'd rather come with you than stay here with this foul, stinky beast-" At that Arod nudged at the dwarf and snorted angrily. Gimli quickly righted his words. "I mean, kind, calm, friendly . . . horse. I haven't seen the elf for hours. He must be up to some mischief."

"Perhaps he can help you with Arod. I wonder if you have ever saddled such a being before?" Aragorn teased.

"Don't dare tell him!" Gimli bellowed. "If you do I'm gong to kill you _and _him, laddie. This dwarf can manage."

Aragorn could not hold back a laugh. Gimli could not hold back a glare.

_----_

A black-haired being stormed past them as they rounded the next corner of the corridor. It put Éomer off-guard and he almost lost his balance, but Elrohir grabbed his arm and steadied him. But the half-elf's eyes lingered on the retreating back. He recognized the elf that has passed them so very clearly and that look in the familiar eyes had also been clear if just for the second he saw them. Elladan was angry, frustrated, and guilty. In worry he tired to create a mental link between them but his twin refused to make contact.

What was this? He shook his head. He knew his twin well. Once he had calmed down, he could talk to him.

The door to Legolas' room was opened wide, and the room beyond was dark. The light from the corridor fell onto the bed. There lay said elf, appearing to be asleep. Éomer though it looked both eerie and strange; the elf was relaxed but his blue eyes were staring up, opened but glazed. The elves slept with their eyes open. Had he not been breathing, he would have looked dead. The though clenched at his heart and tightened his throat.

"Legolas? Wake up, sleepy thing."

Elrohir patted the golden elf's shoulder. Legolas murmured something and shifted, the covers sliding down revealing part of his swollen belly. Elrohir breathed over Legolas' face, tickling his skin. The not yet conscious elf tried to push away the irritating feeling, waving weakly over his face as if he tried to chase away a fly. Éomer could not hold back a smile as he saw Elrohir look at him and grin.

Then the dark-haired half-elf leaned down and hissed in the other elf's ear; "We're under attack!"

Legolas awoke with a start hearing those words and he reached out for a weapon, an old instinct of his. But there was no weapons no bow by his side or a knife under his pillow, as he had in Mirkwood. He was tense but when his eyes focused and he saw a man and an elf looking down at him, both with grinning faces, the first also with raised eyebrows. He relaxed. He gave Elrohir a heated glare.

"Do you wish me to kill you?" He teased.

"Not really." Elrohir admitted with an apologetic smile. "We came to say good-bye, for now."

His words made Legolas' heart weep, but his face remained calm. He did not wish them to leave. He admitted he was afraid that they would leave. The dark-haired elf embraced him and he wished him good luck. But always, Éomer stood there by the doorway gazing intensely at him, breaking his concentration. For a moment they met each other's eyes. The gleam was back.

"Take care." Legolas said. "I am sure that Aragorn would have better use of you whole."

Elrohir smirked. "You think so? I wonder how you figured that one out." But his teasing died away and then he pulled Legolas into another hard embrace. "I will take care, brother." he murmured. He laid a hand on Legolas' stomach. "You take care as well, won't you? Otherwise Gimli will kill you."

"I am afraid of that." Legolas smiled and pulled away.

Éomer still looked at them, silently, letting them have time. When Elrohir stood, only then he moved a little closer. The man's eyes were at Legolas' form. Where he now sat on the bed he looked to fragile, so strange, unlike how he had been on the battlefield. Elrohir, sensing this would be a private moment, smiled and took his leave. _'He does have good taste, Legolas,'_ he thought. Perhaps this, a relationship between Éomer and Legolas, would break the blonde elf's silence – silence of his child, about what worried his heart so.

Seeing the man's hesitation, Legolas patted the bed.

"Come," he greeted. "Sit with me."

Slowly, Éomer did as he was bid. The man gingerly took one of the elf's pale hands in his own. For several moments they sat in silence. Legolas did not dare break it. He was calm, safe now. He did not want Éomer to leave; he did not want him to release his hand. The man's thumbs were slowly moving over his soft skin.

"I do not wish to leave," the man said at last in a murmur.

Looking up he met Legolas' gaze, those impossibly deep and blue eyes. They held now also confusion, as dad his own, but they also held . . . fear. There should not be fear in those beautiful eyes. Legolas almost did not dare to breathe when Éomer leaned in closer, cupping his chin with strong callused hands. So unlike the hands of an elf. Unlike Egil's.

"You are so beautiful," Éomer breathed.

Legolas moved up to stroke the man's cheek, the feeling of a beard alien to his fingers but not unwelcome.

"You are beautiful as well," he whispered back.

The whole room seemed so hushed, the air thick, it was hard to breathe. This closeness, inches from each other . . . It was not unwelcome now, it was . . .

"Can you tell me . . . of him." The man asked it quietly. "The father of your child."

The words hurt. They came slowly but so suddenly, he was not ready for it. Legolas lowered his gaze as unwelcome tears filled his eyes. Oh he was so _weak!_ He should not cry. Not now. _Not now._ Éomer held his chin and gently lifted it so that they looked at each other. He should not have asked, the man knew that seeing so much pain in those amazing eyes. He pulled the elf into a hesitant embrace which Legolas welcomed and buried himself within. The memory of Egil sprang fresh to his mind and he could not hold back the tears as he cried, but silently, afraid to make any sound.

"I'm sorry," Éomer whispered. "I should not have asked you, and I should not do this."

Legolas bit his lip and shook his head.

"Don't..." He whispered. "Don't apologize." He took a deep breath. "Don't leave yet. I can . . . cannot tell . . . not yet . . ."

He met Éomer eyes, pulling away slightly from the embrace to see his face. The man's face held doubt, confusion . . . and love. Love. It was clear in the man's eyes. The gleam. If possible his heart swelled in his chest. Éomer _loved _him.

On instinct he again buried himself in the embrace, hiding his face in Éomer's neck as if it would stop the tears. It did not. The man smelled good and almost home, of horse and wild plains and untamed powers.

"He was dear to me," he whispered at last, "And I loved him. I still do."

"What happened?" Éomer was stroking his back. Now he felt . . . he knew not what he felt. But there was not jealously.

"He died." Legolas said simply.

Éomer's throat felt thick and he shut his eyes tightly upon hearing this. So that was why . . . why . . . It was so quick and easy, those words. It explained so much. He held the elf tighter, he would not let go, afraid that something would come and claim the elf. He would never let go.

"I do not wish to leave, not now," he murmured. "I cannot."

"You must." Legolas whispered, burying his finger's in Éomer's hair. "You must fight for your people."

For a moment they held their breaths before they pulled away form each other slightly. Eyes met eyes. Legolas sighed.

"Then I will fight for you." Éomer said at last.

The words made Legolas' heart weep and swell with love at the same time.

_Would you die for me?_

_Egil said he would die for me..._

Then Éomer's lips brushed against his own, hesitatingly. It was a question. Legolas relaxed and answered, slid his eyes shut and tried to forget. Forget everything. This world, the war, the lost ones, the dreams, the battles, fights to be fought. What he could lose. Lose Éomer.

_He could not lose Éomer._

When Éomer kissed him they both wept while holding each other tightly. They would not let go. Not yet.

They knew not that a pair of smiling eyes were watching, happy, relaxed. They were sad that soon they had to let go, to leave each other. Elrohir felt truly happy now, seeing his brother and friend like this, even weeping. Before he had been so emotionless yet so full of turmoil. He had not been crying or laughing, but now he was. _'Éomer is a good man, Legolas,'_ he thought. _'he will take care of you.'_

When the kiss broke Legolas felt like he was dreaming. He took Éomer's hand in his own and squeezed it tightly. The man's hand was warm and his eyes were smiling. They were alive, real, _near_. Éomer smiled, and Legolas smiled back.

"I think I am in love with you," he whispered.

----

_**Auhtor's notes: **Well I noticed that here it was not so much that really happened....several pages and yet they have not left Minas Tirith. Seven pages to something that took less than a minute in the movie, lol. Anyway hope you enjoyed. _

_Anotehr note, to those who wonder; I'm slighly confused as well sometimes of just how far Legolas' pregnancy is. But he should be in his 8th month._

_**Reviewers:**_

_glostarz: Hey! Thanks, and of course x) Hm, really? Not really...sorry to disappoint you, though, the adventure is not over yet. It's not even NEARING over yet! The Merry/Pippin/Legolas/'the belly' scene, I wrote it in a hurry before school so it was not the best thing perhaps, but it's wonderful so many likes it! (I thought it was an awkward scene...a little at least... Well, that's me)._

_Nomad Princess: Thanks for the review! Again! XD Maybe there'll be more 'belly'-interaction in the future, lol._

_Ninfea di Luna: Oh, I new reader! That's so great, because every reviewer gets a cookie! (okay, not real cookies, but, it's the thought that counts, yeah?) I'm glad you like this! Or more than glad, or happy, or whatever :D. Mpreg (as in male pregnancy) is great, because then all my (and others') favorite characters can have their own baby, and a boyfriend, at the same time, heh – how could I resist? And I promise, this won't be the last story like this. I'm on the prequel (before this one) already. Maybe a continuation will come... *gets lost in thought – oops, then remembers I was still talking to you!* Thanks for the review by the way!_

_Elinka: Hey! Thanks! And thanks again! This is the first try of mine at Legolas/Éomer. We'll so how it goes, won't we? (I must read some of the book once again, cause I do not know this Éomer guy so very much yet.) Here'll soon be some more chapters to this. And more fluffy moments! So hang on. _

_mikinyet: Hi again and thank you for another review! Aye, Legolas is just making things worse right now..._

_Thynga: Hey, thanks for the comment on the video, and the review! I'm always bouncing happily when finding new readers! About the elvish: it is kind of confusing, but yes, 'le' comes from the world 'I' (Sindarin). The phrase (Le melon) is in Sindarin. I found it on the net as the "real"-Tolkien-phrase. The "Amin mela lle" that is very used is in Grevlish/Non-Tolkien elvish... The word for 'friend' is of course 'me**ll**on' but 'love you' is 'me**l**on'... (with one L). Confusing, eh?_


	24. Chapter 24

_**Author's notes**: Sorry for the late update! So, in turn, I've tried to make this chapter as long and full of interesting things as possible. Deal, yeah? Here we are – the wait. And the last battle, hopefully! Will our heroes return well and alive? _

_Okay I apologize for calling the twins both 'elves' and 'half-elves'. They are half-elves (what I know) who has chosen immortal lives. Sorry for the confusing. Also I've done some 'research' and according to the book it took about 5 days for the guys to reach the Black Gates – but in the movie we don't find out much of it. Here it'll take some days like in the book, more realistic that way..._

_**Elvish:**_

_adar - father_

_**Reviews:**_

_Ninfea di Luna: Thanks for the review! Here was another chapter for you :) and soon there'll be more..._

_glostarz: Hey! Thank you, and for the beta as well! _

_Elinka: Thanks! And I tell you the books are great :D glad you like this fic, all these reviews are makin' me happy and in turn you get more and more chapters from me, yay! :)_

_mikinyet: Arod is a great horse – but when it comes to dwarves... haha, Gimli will not last for long. The secret of Legolas' about Egil will soon be told of more...or maybe here in this chapter? Enjoy, by the way!_

_Khral: Hey, a new reader, nice to have you reading! About the dream; it's a warning that if Legolas fights, the others will die. That is why he does not 'sneaks' into the fighting by the Black Gates – he is afraid that the dream comes true and everyone dies just because he is there._

_Mizuki Hikari: Hey :) The reason for the so fast relationship between them is somewhat born out of desperation...Legolas found him while in doubt an the man did not question him in the same way like Aragorn and Gimli do...It goes on with lack of time; you know sometimes you call fall for someone and know him/her on such a stadium but now *knowing * the person ... okay that sounds confusing, eh (I kinda can't explain this at all) ... First I though of making the relationship slow – it'll slow down once again the war is over and they have more time for each other. Then they can actually sit down, talk, and get to know each other better... Anyway, glad you like and thanks for the review!_

_Thynga: Thanks you like this so much! ...Legolas' relationship with Éomer is like some test...he's trying to find some kind of support and new love ... As Legolas was unmarried before that meant he was a virgin and he knew Egil only some months/a year, so he's still trying to figure things out... I think, heh :P Finding Egil again may be hard as he's dead but Legolas will never forget/replace him with Éomer... He's more like taking Éomer as trying to find some "point in life" if you get what I mean, a comfort, something to hold onto. (You hadn't he been pregnant, he would have died when Egil died...which would have been sad and left us with no story at all). Not all relationships are simple and happy are they? (I think none are, but that's just me)_

----

**Chapter 24**

----

It was to their surprise they met Elladan in the corridor. First the half-elf did not look at them and passed them quickly but he stopped in his tracks when Aragorn called out after him. Slowly he turned to them.

"Aragorn," he greeted, "Gimli."

But Aragorn frowned. The brother he knew would usually rather jump at him like a happy madman and almost give him a heart attack in the process, greeting him in a hug-like fashion ending up sprawled on the floor like two fighting children. Estel was also what the twins would call him, for old time's sake. Elladan never used to be this distant . . . He looked part angry, part sad.

"Elladan, what is the matter?" Aragorn asked.

Gimli did not say anything; let this be left to Aragorn. He did not see anything very strange with the half-elf, but, Elladan was an elf – partly, at least from what he had heard. Though he did seem a bit like Legolas used to be . . . was . . .

When the half-elf first did not answer the dwarf scratched his beard impatiently. He was eager to see Legolas, and now this half-elf had got in the way.

"Elladan? This is unlike you." Aragorn said.

The half-elf sighed and run a hand through his dark hair.

"I lashed out at him," he said at last. "Legolas. But he was avoiding me and we both knew it. It was only for a moment that I was angry at him . . . really angry. Out of worry."

Aragorn frowned. "You should come with us and talk to him." He suggested softly. "He must have a reason for avoiding you."

"Now?" Elladan asked, looking as if someone had asked him whatever he was a male or not and suggested he'd put on a dress just to find out if it fit. "He will practically kill me, Estel! I am afraid I left him in a . . . tipsy state, with the child and the dream and all . . ."

Now Gimli's interest was caught. However, Aragorn frowned. "Dream now? What dream?" The dwarf asked suspiciously.

Elladan realized he had said too much. His baby-brother Estel did not know about Legolas' dreams – for all these years the wood-elf had refused to tell the man, he did not wish to weight his mind. But the dwarf . . . The dwarf knew, Elladan was sure seeing the look in the dark eyes. Uncomfortably he shifted weight from foot to foot.

"Another one of the dreams," he said his eyes darting to Gimli. "you know of what I speak of, do you not, master dwarf?"

"Aye, and yet again I think I am about to kill the lad."

"What dreams?" Aragorn cut in with a confused sigh. "Please explain, brother."

Elladan gave a wry smile. "Oh Estel, Estel . . . You are to blame when Legolas kills me." Then he started to tell the secret that Legolas had kept for so long and only very few knew of. "Since he has been able to speak, we have known that Legolas has had dreams . . . or visions if you'd rather call them that. Foreseeable visions. Unfortunately only miserable ones, of deaths and wars – at least that is what we know of the little he has told us. And no, it is not like Lady Galadriel's or _adar_'s ability." He added, seeing Aragorn's look, shaking his head. "These visions do not come willingly, they come when he is not ready – mostly under much pressure and stress."

"Wait. Do you mean that he has dreamed during the whole quest?" Aragorn looked to his side. "Gimli?" He asked. "What do you know?"

The dwarf shrugged. "Not very much about the lad. He told me once though, while in Helm's Deep when you had fallen off the cliff and not yet come back. Never in detail. Oh, sometimes I feel torn and wonder if I am to kill him, or comfort him." He sounded annoyed. "Now, are we to stay here all day or visit the lad?"

Aragorn looked at his brother. Elladan still looked uncomfortable but sighed.

"Fine. I will come with you. It's better to say a proper good-bye after all . . . I do not wish to leave with bad terms between us."

----

"I think I am in love with you."

The whispered words made Éomer's world stop for a moment. He knew that it was true seeing into Legolas' eyes but hearing those words were breath-taking. They were close and real to his heart and it warmed his whole soul. More than ever, he never wanted to leave.

"Legolas . . ." Again he leaned in and sough out the fair elf's lips. Legolas welcomed the kiss, and this time it was not slow or questioning. Now it was desperate and heated and they would not let go, could not let go of each other, because soon they would have to be parted, never perhaps to see one another again.

_Don't leave._

Legolas clenched at Éomer's clothing and pulled him closer, closer even, like he tried to melt together their bodies. The man's hands were tangled in the elf's golden hair.

_Don't leave._

They sat there forever, holding each other tightly. _Do not let go, not yet_. When the kiss broke both were left with no breath; Éomer was staring dazzled into Legolas' blue, endless eyes. They knew not how long they sat there, still with their finger's buried in the other's clothing and hair, breathing each other's breaths, staring into each other's eyes. Time was forgotten but their gazes intense.

"Your beauty should be forbidden for I seem to have lost all sense." Éomer breathed. "I love you." And he took Legolas' face in his hands and kissed him again.

No words were enough to express what he felt. He was not sure if the kiss did either; but Legolas understood and it made him happy.

Legolas smiled at him slightly when the man drew back from his lips. Tentatively he stroked the man's face, his neck. The skin was tanned and rougher than an elf's, but it felt strangely more real, more near the earth and the passing of time. Gently the man pressed him backwards, laid him back on the pillows, but Éomer refused to lean his weight over him. The elf's hands were working on his shirt.

"Legolas," he whispered, "we cannot do this . . ." He moved and pressed a hand on the elf's abdomen.

The elf started to struggle again, struggle inside of himself. Éomer saw this in the elf's eyes, they darted slightly and became a bit glazed, lost, far away.

"Not yet."

"I know." The elf murmured and his hands fell away from the man's clothing. "I just want to know that you are here because soon you will leave me, and I know not if you will . . ." His throat felt thick again. "I do not know if you will come back . . ."

Then suddenly his eyes flashed with some panic, a fear, and he tried to sit and maybe leave, but Éomer held him down.

_Don't leave._

"I am sorry; I should not do this..."

"I will come back." Éomer promised passionately, when the elf's words faltered. "If I have to fight blade against blade with each orc in the whole of Mordor and then the Dark Lord himself, I will come back."

The words placed both warmth and love as well as fear in Legolas' heart. He grabbed the man's hands and squeezed them tightly.

"Promise?"

It was a childish wish. No one could promise to escape death . . . war . . .

"I promise." Éomer placed a kiss on Legolas' temple, careful not to press his weight onto the elf's swollen belly. "I swear."

When he smiled Legolas looked dazzling. It took much of his self control not to attack him with kisses again. In turn Éomer smiled as well. But those blue eyes looked so sad . . . so _afraid _. . . Gently he stroked away a few locks of hair that had fallen into the elf's face. They were soft as silk, like Legolas' unblemished skin.

"I will come back as soon as I can." He murmured. "Take care for me."

The elf smiled. "I will." He answered, his voice just as soft as the man's. He lifted the man's hand to his lips and kissed it. "Hurry."

Hearing a bell ring in the distance, Éomer's heart heaved and he glanced at the door. The bell rang again. It was a calling; it was time.

"I must leave." He said, answering the elf's squeeze of his hand.

Slowly and unwillingly, he stood, never letting his gaze leave Legolas' face.

----

They stopped when they heard soft voices. They had expected it to be quiet here, that Legolas should be asleep. But he was not, obviously. They recognized his voice and the other as well; but they heard not the words spoken. Slowly they moved closer to the opened door.

The room was only dimly lit and there sat Legolas and Éomer on the bed, talking in soft murmurs. Or rather, the elf lay down and Éomer sat there very close to him, close as only dear friends or lovers; they were holding hands as well. The two were too deep within their silent conversation to notice that a man, an elf and a dwarf stood watching and listening in wonder. Gimli remembered when he had seen Legolas in Éomer's embrace. This was a private moment. He glanced at Aragorn and Elladan. Perhaps they should leave?

Then Éomer slowly stood. Several moments passed before he turned from the elf; the group outside, realizing they were spying, backed away from the doorway and walking back into the corridor some way. When Éomer passed them, he acknowledged them with a nod but did not say a word. The horse-lord looked sad, and his eyes were filled with some deep emotions that could not be read but Elladan was sure he saw longing there. Longing and confusion.

"Mayhap we should give Legolas some time." He suggested softly. "You saw the way they acted . . ."

But Aragorn shook his head. "There is not any more time; you heard the bells calling for assembly. The armies will soon leave." Saying this his hand were resting on his hip near his sword.

Gimli grumbled something under his breath about damn horses and elves.

"All right then. Let us see what the elf has done now."

----

Surprised he looked up when he heard a knock against the door. There stood Gimli and also Aragorn –_Oh thank god, he was all right!_ - and next to them, Elladan. The man was dressed in armour in Gondorian style now; the White Tree was embroidered in his clothing and by his hip hung a great sword. As usual, Gimli was dressed in his heavy armour and not once had he taken off his helmet since the partying after Helm's Deep. Only Elladan was not yet carrying weapons, no sword or bow or axe.

They were leaving.

He greeted them with a sad smile and wished them good luck - he knew they needed it. He would miss them even the short time they would be away. Elladan had calmed now and let himself be embraced by the Mirkwood elf. Gimli refused to be soft in his good-bye but Legolas saw it in his eyes, the care of an old dwarf's heart. The dwarf cared deeply for him. It made him smile. The dwarf was stubborn.

But who in that room was not stubborn?

----

He stared after them, the long tail of men on foot and horses, fading away on the dusty plains. He missed them already, he was worried – what if the dream . . .

It was a dream. That meant it probably was something, something that should happen. This should happen. A battle. But now he could not take a part in it, he could not watch it, he could just stare after their retreating shadows until they were gone from sight. It had been a warning, he realized. A warning that had hurt. Yet the memory of blood was fresh in his mind, so near, so_real _. . .

"Lucky Pippin." He heard a muttering by his side. "Unlucky me."

_Lucky?_

Pippin was not lucky. The thought slipped into Legolas' mind, but he pushed it away. Gently he laid a comforting hand on the hobbit's shoulder. Merry's eyes were on the horizon, as were his own.

"I hope they come back soon." The hobbit murmured.

"That I hope too." Legolas whispered, more to the wind and himself than to anyone else. "That I hope too . . ." But his heart clenched in his chest.

He missed them already, and most of all, he missed Éomer. Missed him so much. Still he could feel the tingle of his kisses on his lips.

What to do now when they were gone? Would they be gone forever?

---

He was restless. It had been over an hour now since they had left and he had already walked back to the balcony once to see if they had returned. Of course they had not. _'Silly fool'_, he told himself. _'They will be gone for days . . .'_

He turned from the balcony, where he and Éomer had stood holding each other for the first time, and walked under the pillars and roof again. The sun hung almost heavy in the sky like his heart. He was too far away in his mind to hear running footsteps until Merry almost collided with him. The hobbit was also sad about the company and Aragorn leaving, especially since Pippin was there as well, but there would always be some way to cheer up. He had heard Legolas was forbidden to leave the houses of Healing for some days still. But he knew someone else who too was forced to stay here.

He grabbed the elf's hand enthusiastically. "Come, come, I know someone you must meet!" He said and Legolas sighed but smiled and let himself be led by the halfling.

"And who is that, pray tell?"

"You'll see." Merry said. "I mean, there is not one you must meet, but two. You have met before with one of them, Éowyn of Rohan."

The shield maiden? Aye, Éomer had mentioned her being here as well, wounded . . . It was strange that he had not seen her while watching the warriors leave the city. He had thought she would be the one first there demanding she would come with them. The thought made a wry smile appear on his lips.

"But the other then?" He asked.

Merry did not answer that with anything else than; "You will see, Legolas. You are too curious for an elf!"

_'Did he hear that from Mithrandir?'_Legolas wondered.

Merry, having been released from the healers, had now moved into Pippin's and Gandalf's chambers, though now he was alone there. But in the room of the Houses of Healing where he had rested, now rested Éowyn there with a man from Gondor. Said man had Merry heard of had talked of some through Pippin.

When the door opened with a hobbit and an elf led by a grip on his hand, Éowyn and Faramir looked over the room to the door. They were stood by a window talking. Éowyn recognized Merry at once and smiled. Right now he could as well have been a child, dragging his companion by the hand into the room. She smiled in greeting, as did Faramir. The elf, silent but slightly smiling, looked a bit uncomfortable. She recognized him though he was dressed differently since the last time she had seen him; Legolas. The almost knee-long shirt he wore was loose around his arms, but a swell could be seen around his middle.

"Milady, milord." Merry greeted. "I came to see you so I hope I do not interrupt. I brought a friend with me." He turned to Faramir and let go of Legolas' hand. "Lord Faramir, this is Legolas. Legolas, Lord Faramir, son of Denethor."

Son of Denethor? Denethor was the steward of Gondor; but Legolas suspected that had he been alive, Aragorn would have not, from the moment the ranger stepped into this city. So this was Boromir's brother . . . and possibly now the steward of Gondor. He knew not much of the customs of men but greeted him politely as he had been taught to. Faramir looked like to his brother, broad and strong, but his eyes were softer than those of Boromir. The man smiled as he answered his greeting.

"Now, when you get to know each other, I am off to find some food; there is a garden out there where we can meet." Merry announced receiving a raised eyebrow. "Picnic." He said then frowned at the elf. "You must have been in the company of Strider too long. He does not know of second breakfast . . . I doubt he knows about lunch. And you do not know about picnics! Or do you? I have a doubt . . ." Then he was running of in search for the kitchens, leaving a smiling elf behind with his friends.

"They are wee creature.," Faramir commented seeing Merry disappear.

He looked over to the elf who was shifting from foot to foot, but smiling. Legolas never commented that he knew very well what a picnic was. He was not so sure if he was ready to make contact like this yet; he missed Éomer, Aragorn and Gimli, and longed to be alone. Sleep. He was tired, and wished to sleep.

They walked into the gardens together, Éowyn holding Faramir's hand. The son of Gondor spoke of his home, and asked Legolas to tell of his. They sat down in the middle of the garden, enjoying the breeze and the sun; forgetting the battle about to be fought by their friends. They tried to forget the disappointment that they were not partaking themselves.

The elf spoke first reluctantly, trying to leave out as much of his private life as possible. He was not ready to open up. He spoke of the shadows growing in Mirkwood, and when the large forest was Greenwood the Great. Both Éowyn and Faramir suddenly looked upon him with widened eyes and bowed slightly, and only then he realized he had said 'my father' about the King of Mirkwood – such a thing he could not help. The words had rolled off his tongue before he knew it.

"You are a prince of Eryn Lasgalen!" Faramir said. It surprised Legolas that he used the elven name of his home, though he did not question it. Faramir was the son of a lord after all.

"I knew not that you were the son of Thranduil." Éowyn said.

There was little known of the elven king and his kingdom, except by the enemies too close by and the shadows they fought there every day. She was sure that that kingdom was harsh and wild and in a way like Rohan. By from what Legolas told them, only edging at the forests' secrets, it sounded like a kingdom of warriors.

Legolas shrugged but smiled. "Aye, I am the prince of Mirkwood." He said casually. "Though titles have never mattered to me.

That moment Merry returned with a basket of foof. "There was not much to be found." He said. "Almost all the food has been stocked for the war . . . But I was allowed some though."

He put down the basket and sat next to them on the grass. There was bread, cheese and various fruits and nuts. Merry had also pursued someone to fetch a bottle of wine for the Steward of Gondor and his friends.

They ate and drank while talking softly with each other. Most of the time Legolas observed and listened rather than talked. It was safer this way, more comfortable. It surprised him that the lord and the lady did not know of his condition; after all, the few of the healers of Rohan knew ... and he thought that Éowyn would have heard, and ask him of it. But she did not. But he could understand that; she might not know much or anything at all about elven cultures, but she would rather not wish to offend him by asking...after all, how many males carrying child had she met earlier?

His guess was none.

---

"How long is it there?" Pippin wondered aloud. "To the Gates I mean; the Black Gates." A shiver was sent down his spine when he thought about the place they were going. Mordor. One place he'd never wish to have a closer look at.

"Three days we must ride at a steady pace, mister Took," Gandalf said, looking down at his charge. The young hobbit was riding on Shadowfaxe with him, again, for there was no time to search for a pony that would fit the halfling's small size and at the same time keep up with the men's pace. At least not here in Gondor; this was no land of horses. "And there will be no time for eleven-seasons or second breakfasts, I am afraid. There is no time."

"A pity," Pippin said. "Nothing can be as good as a second breakfast in the morning. I still don't see why Strider, I mean Aragorn, doesn't know what it is. He _did_ walk around the boarders of Shire at lot, didn't he?" He sent a questioning glance up at the wizard behind him.

Gandalf chuckled. "Yes, but did he ever tell you were he ate?"

"No. That must be a point." Pippin shook his head. He missed having a real good second breakfast, complete with beacon and eggs. When at duty with the guards in the citadel of Gondor, there had been no time for eating between breakfast and dinner – which would have been very much harder on his hobbit stomach had he not experienced the time with the Fellowship first. And there would be his friends of course, Merry, Sam, Frodo... He missed them. He was worried about Sam and Frodo as well. Where were they? Where they all right? They had to be all right... With a wistful sigh he looked over the plains to the mountains in the horizon. They were out there somewhere...

_'At least Merry's got it safe and better, back in Minas Tirith',_ he thought. At least the city was safe at the moment. More than anything he wished he hadn't come with them here. It yet felt strange to be around so many of the Big Folk, they were now some hundred – small for an army, but yet for him, this was all too large. And the men stared.

He was just a normal peaceful little hobbit from the Shire....who had happened to be a part of less peaceful adventures...Who could have thought? Bilbo would love to hear this once they got back – if they ever did.

"Hope they're all right though," he said suddenly, voicing his thoughts.

"Hm?" Seeing his companion's look, Gandalf smiled slightly. "Yes, let us hope that, young Peregrin; before the battle there was some hope, if just a little. And see now... Yes, let us hope." His answer was somewhat cryptic but Pippin smiled as well.

"Of course there's hope," he said; joking, "At least, a fool's hope."

---

The sun sank slowly. Legolas stared off at the horizon, drifting away from the conversation. The sun burned, there far away. Far away. Aragorn and Gimli were there somewhere beyond the horizon. Far away was Éomer... He wanted them to come back. His longing crept upon him almost faster than his tiredness did. Soon he no longer heard what was being said, fighting the urge to yawn.

"...and he disappeared like into thin air! You should have seen their faces – it was unlike anything made by Gandalf's fireworks, that! I was as shocked as them, of course. Back then I didn't know about old Bilbo's secrets and had no idea what had really happened..." Merry's retelling of the grand party of Bilbo's 111th birthday came to a halt. His eyes drifted over to Legolas' form; the elf had his chin resting in his hand, propped up on his elbow. The elf's eyes were glazed over by sleep; when the hobbit waved his hand in front of the fair being's face he did not react at all.

He was asleep! _'Maybe I should have thought of that_', Merry thought. The elf seemed changed by his pregnancy, not so full of energy as before and more sensitive. Aragorn has explained that to him once when he had asked why the elf seemed not like himself more and more often; and he had also noticed it with pregnant hobbit lasses in the Shire.

But Faramir and Éowyn looked only slightly confused. "He must've fallen asleep," Merry said and shook the elf's shoulder gently.

"But his eyes...they are wide open. Is everything all right?" Éowyn knew not much of elves, but it could not be natural to fall asleep even for an elf like this. Or was it?

"Elves sleep with their eyes open," Merry explained. "And, hm, has not Aragorn or Gandalf told you?"

"Told us," Faramir asked, "of what?"

"Of Legolas' ...condition." But he had not obviously; the two humans still looked confused. But perhaps these news were not to be spread so fast – the elf had kept it secret a long time, after all. "Maybe he shall explain for you later," Merry decided, turning attention to the asleep elf. What should they do? The elf did not react when they tried to wake him. Merry had never realized that Legolas was that tired. He had always been so full of energy in the fellowship while traveling, always running ahead and checking for dangers, searching for enemies, sitting awake taking the watches when the others deserved to sleep.

"Perhaps we should take him to his rooms," Éowyn suggested.

It was something about the golden creature that left her ... unsettled. It was not that he was an elf, it was something rare to see yes but... She had heard of something stranger – if not rarer – still about this elf, and it was both fascinating as well as mad. Yes, mad. Either it was just plain lies coming from some madman's mouth. Or a strange truth, forgotten or hidden or both, about the elves...Then she shook her head. No, of course not; it could not be truth!

Faramir caught her glance and he carefully lifted the elf, with the help of Merry, from his sitting position. By the weight, Faramir could have thought it was a child he held in his arms, not in fact an adult. He was surprisingly light.

Merry led them to the elf's chambers. They were emptier than those where Éowyn and Faramir and he himself were held. The walls were pale white and the stone floor seemed to be the only thing holding patterns. Now it was covered with a rug, though. Some maid must have been here for the bed had been made, and next to the candle at the bedside table lay a box of lucifer matches, and a glass of water.

The hobbit tucked the elf into the sheets and did not leave, unlike Faramir and Éowyn. He wanted to make sure everything was all right first. Something had deeply troubled the elf since the departure of the company but yet...this was different. Merry, being one hobbit observant and wise (on the last part, at least Pippin agreed), could see something bothered the elf – maybe the departure and war and hit him hard. But Legolas was a warrior.... Or it was the child. 'Well, I should see him in the morning then,' he thought and glanced up. Unfortunately there was no window in the room, so he could not see the sun and read the time.

Maybe Legolas wanted some snlight in here. In Rivendell all romms had held windows – sometimes even in the roof, filled with coloured glass, which always was as aweing to see the light play and reflect on it. Some sunliht would be good on his all too pale skin, right? Merry had always thought the elf was pale in skin. In Moria, he had become even paler. That could not be healthy.

There had been hours now since the Grey Company and the armies from Gondor and Rohan, with Aragorn in the lead, had left. They should be there, by the Black Gates, soon...At least he thought so. He had studied some maps both in Rivendell much earlier as well as here in Gondor; it was a pretty short way there, if they were to travel quickly through Ithilien. Three, maybe four, days. They should be there very soon...

---

Travel was an overrated thing. After many hours Pippin had decided that. Just going on and on now, but once you have come over three miles, it seemed not much more to discover. Or after hundred and three miles. He was no so sure how long he was from the Shire by now.

He had been allowed to ride with Éomer, now King of Rohan since his uncle's death the hobbit had heard, which was actually not so much better in comparison to riding with Gandalf. Both man and wizard were tense and tight-lipped. The ride was long, silent, and nervous. They were marching fully in the open, but there were soldiers placed both riding in front of the army, as well as on the west and east side of it. In the east, the dark clouds were hovering. They were tense, the men, like taunt but hesitating bowstrings.

Pippin longed for a break were he could speak with Aragorn. The ranger and King-to-be seemed to know more than perhaps even Gandalf about this; and the men seemed also slightly calmer around him.

They had passed Osilgath and there had been some things going on with the Big Folk he knew not of, but it seemed they had reclaimed the city. Now it was fading away in the horizon behind them; he had giving up seeing it. It was like seeing the last secure place in the world fade away. Minas Tirith was not more than a white shadowed dot by the mountains. He missed Merry already.

Every three times a day, the men would blow in their horns and trumpets and call out 'The Lords of Gondor come! Leave this land or give it for them!' The phrase repeated over and over in his head, making him feel dizzy. The army was nothing against the ones fighting at the Pelennor Fields – and nothing against the armies of Mordor... How could such a call do more than annoy the dark lord and his servants? Maye the orcs, that was. The orcs may be afraid.

He hoped that, rather than_ he _would be afraid – or more afraid than he already were.

**

He was stumbling, up a burning hill of ash. The ground beneath his naked feet burned, like fire dying, fighting to rise. The air, thick and warm, filled his lungs with dust. He could not breathe. The sky was so dark, reflecting a thousand fires.

He thought he was dying. Or maybe he was dead, and had come to a place which those of Mankind feared. He had heard of them, long ago, and they called them the Hells.

But he felt not dead, but not alive. He barely could think. Tears filled his eyes, but not of sadness or grief, maybe of anger, of the ash and dust around him. Where...where? He cried out but the echoes died away.

His feet carried him upwards the steep hill. No, this was no hill. Stone cut into his skin, made him bleed. It hurt.

Voices in his ears made him deaf. They whispered, whispered, in languages he could not grasp. Could not understand. Blindly he tried to reach out, he slipped, fell into the dirt. Lost his breath. But his body continued moving, crawling up the mountain as if up there at the top, the dark clouds would break up, revealing a blue clear endless sky. So that he could breathe. He could not breathe.

With blurry eyes he saw now no top, but an opening filled with glaring red – like there was a wide cave and in there lured fires and Balrogs. A cave...He reached out, and grasped a block of stone, an edge.

He found barely enough muscles to pull himself over it. He came not to his feet. His body hurt, his eyes, his skin, his waist, his lungs. When lifting his head he saw directly into the opening, but it was no cave. There were fires, but he saw no a soul in there.

Yes. Wait.

There.

A shadow stood, far away, surrounded by swirling smokes and fires. He called out but it did not turn. He thought he recognized it. He _did_ recognize it. It was a weak struggling memory – but he did. He called out again and the figure turned. He struggled to his feet and stumbled inside.

The hobbit held a gleaming golden ring in his hand, and his eyes were dimmed and unclear for some reason. His face held a leer, smirking at him; the earth shook and thrown fires against them, long burning tongues.

"Frodo!" Legolas called.

Yes – that was his name. Frodo. But the halfling still smirked. The Ring trembled in his hand but yet he smirked. And then he put it on his finger and disappeared, the air becoming thinner here, warmer. The whispering increased and he knew, knew what had called him.

His body burned and he was left exposed, he rather felt than heard the dismayed cries of circling Nazgûls above. The Eye stared, stared at him, and at the halfling he no longer could see.

"Frodo! NO!"

**


	25. Chapter 25

_**Author's note: **The big battle's coming soon. Right? Thank you all for the patience (I think I am killing someone). I've been without computer for a couple of days, with no time between school, theater/drama and sleep... _

_**Elvish: **_

_Adar - father_

_**Reviewers:**_

_glostarz: Thank you! Glad you like again and again :) and thanks for the beta as well. I suppose I should sent you more whole chapters rather than parts of them....will be working on that, huh!_

_mikinyet: Yes, at least. Felt too bad if leaving them angry at each other... _

_Ninfea di Luna: Thank you for the review! Updates will be quicker soon (I hope) but at the moment I'm kinda busy as it's nearing the end of school and there will be a lot of late tests and performances and god knows what...But this fic will not be abandoned._

_Thynga: Hey again and thank you! I would love if Egil came back...but I think that's be complicated and – can you imagine how he'd react when seeing Éomer and Legolas together. Uh uh, I think Legolas is trouble here... ^^ But I want him back! Now I start regret that I killed him and all that in the beginning! :P About the chapters...there are quite a few left. I do not know how many, really. (Do you think I will stop after the coronation and marriage between Aragorn and Arwen? Um. No. I don't think I can, lol.) So I cannot give a number yet! Maybe five. Or ten. Or ... _

_Elinka: Thank you again :) Can't believe how many actually enjoys this! And I'm glad you like my writing style and so, personally I think this fic could now afterwards be improved a lot but...maybe that's just me. Soon there'll be another update! Summer vacation is nearer and nearer now, so soon I will be able to update much more often._

_Ididntdoit07: Oh, but patience is a virtue...Have patience, in time things will happen!_

**----**

**Chapter 25**

----

**

"_Frodo! NO!"_

_No . . ._

_No . . . no. . ._

The echoes pounded between the walls of his mind as he woke, with wide terrified eyes and his breath ragging. His body felt sore and he was wide awake. The echo of his desperate call seemed to be heard not in his mind but in the room, still dying away. Frodo was not here and did not answer.

_. . . no . . ._

For long moments he sat there breathing and trying to calm down. The room was too dark for his liking; the only source of light was the door slightly opened, letting in a yellow ray. It was sharp to his eyes. He was sweating, he realized, like he had been in the fires of Hell, walking in dust and ashes that were still burning. His body was so sore, tired, hurting . . . his skin burned.

It had been another dream.

He felt fear. When seeing the light from outside lying on the bedside table where a glass of water stood, he grasped the glass and drank long mouthfuls before putting it away again. A dream. Something terrible could happen . . . should happen . . . It frightened him.

Frodo would claim the Ring for his own.

That was the most frightening thought that appeared. That could be the clearest reason, the message. Frodo would take the ring and the world would fall . . .

_No..._

He felt despair grab him, and he swayed, shivered and laid his arms around himself. That meant, if this dream came true, his child would be born in a time of despair . . . war . . . pain . . . No . . . that could not happen . . . It could not be true . . . no . . . _NO!_

The call returned like a scream, starling him, and he opened his eyes wide. He untangled himself from the sheets and moved to stand, backing away towards the door and the light in the corridor; as if the bed held his dreams as well as his misery and panic, his fear. The echo died away. When he opened the door, it creaked ever so slightly in his elven ears. He wanted light. It warmed his skin.

He guided himself down the corridor, first without anywhere to go. Should he even leave? He had an urge to see Merry, though the hobbit surely was fast asleep now, he knew not even where the hobbit was. And he could not run around the whole Minas Tirith just to search for him in the middle of the night!

He walked back, but past his door and down into the garden on the balcony. He heard the silent splashing of a well or a fountain somewhere on his side, almost singing, ever so softly. The sound was calming and reminded him some of Rivendell and Lothlórien where fountains were seen from each corner. The elves of Rivendell loved water, the sound of it, the sight of it. Why else build such a haven among so many beautiful waterfalls? It was a pity there were none in Mirkwood, at least none so magnificent as in Imradis . . . Legolas' throat tightened, for a moment he lost his breath, and he sank down on the stone bench he had just reached.

He realized how much he missed home. It was so long ago since he had seen his home, the forests, the trees . . . Things could have changed. It was war, after all. None could escape it.

He missed _Adar_. With a sigh, he laid his arms around himself, wishing he was a child again in his father's embrace. Adar. It was so long ago since his father had called him a child, held him . . . The memories of playing in the forests so long ago, they were vague. He hoped his adar forgave him. For leaving for so long. How would he react when he came back? With sadness? Or anger? Suddenly his heart clenched. His father would miss him. What if he though him . . . dead, or worse . . . Thranduil no longer had any other children. If he had heard any rumours, false or not . . . If he thought Legolas had died – he could be fading.

He could be dying at this very moment. Legolas shut his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. No. No. His adar would not. He was too strong, too stubborn . . .

The shadows of the east were burning. With his sharp elven eyes, Legolas saw anger pouring out from there. Something was happening; something greater than anything before. A low thunder shook the wind and he saw a few flashes of light. Imagined he heard the echoes of weapons and voices – and they were gone.

But the darkness of Mordor was boiling.

He felt restless all of sudden, and stood. The air felt no longer cold, it was warm like the sun had climbed down form the sky and was now on his skin, burning. The ground shook suddenly, like an earthquake had struck the mountains holding the city, and even the horizon trembled. Legolas almost lost his footing, managing to steady himself against the bench.

Something was going on, something was wrong!

The earth shook again, and then he felt for a moment blinded by lights and fires – and dark towers fell out of his vision, a mountain of fire exploded. He lost all sound, but could spot a large group of silver-clad warriors, and the dark orc armies around them turned and fled from the crushing lands. Struggling on top of the burning hill were two small hobbits, gasping for air, just like him; Legolas realized he could not breathe.

**

He could not breathe. He lay trembling and woke panting and gasping, choking out a strangled cry. Wide blue eyes stared at the surroundings in confusion and panic, sweat covered his brow, and the tangled sheets felt like glued to his skin.

He did not know where he was at first. At first, he tried to calm down – to breathe. The air seemed not enough for his body.

Slowly awareness started to return to him. That dream had been real, and unlike anything he had dreamed before. It felt like falling, from one cliff to another and then deeper down, to suddenly reach the top of a cliff again. It was frightening.

Sheets. He was in a bed. The room felt foreign and he could not really focus on it. His body was sore, like before... Before? There had been any before! Suddenly he realized he had not left this room once, a single time. He had not woken from the dream...hadn't gone to the garden. The floor did not tremble as if the world was falling apart, not here.

_It had been a dream._

----

When he suggested that Gimli should perhaps ride with someone, instead of alone, or maybe walk, Pippin was met with a snort. Pippin frowned. The horse on which Gimli rode, Arod, would never obey the dwarf, it seemed. He never rode in a straight line, and he turned the wrong way and sometimes simply refused to move an inch with the dwarf on his back. He was one stubborn horse. But Gimli was one stubborn dwarf, cursing at the horse every time he got the chance.

"Maybe you could ride with Gandalf?" Pippin suggested innocently.

Gimli, looking up from the reins, gave him a long, brooding look as if the halfling had suggested he would go dance a waltz with the wizard or the like.

"Do you think me mad, young hobbit?" He said seriously at last, before he returned his attention to Arod and ignored the raised eyebrow and chuckle that Pippin left behind him.

Pippin dared not laugh out loud really. The men were far too serious right now. Tenseness was like a rope around them. The dark clouds were coming closer.

"How far is it now?" He asked his current horse-host, Éomer.

The halfling saw not the man's face that much but when he now turned his head to look at him, he looked sad.

"There is one day more, young mister Peregrin," he said, "then we shall reach the Gates of Mordor." Again he turned away from him, facing the east.

He shivered. One day more. He'd rather wait a year. Already the lands seemed darker. The plain laid out before them were not green, rather grey. The sunlight was dim and weakly reflecting against the steel of their armour and tips of their spears.

For the second time that day, the call 'The Lord of Gondor comes!' was heard, echoing among them, starting a chain of repeating in Pippin's mind. It did not stop until he heard Gandalf speak and had the men change it to 'The King Elessar comes!' The men's eyes cleared and they walked straighter upon hearing such a thing, but Pippin felt small, and confused. Aragorn's king-name. That he knew. But all this with kings and great lords and authority, it was lost to him. He supposed that no Shire-ness could ever be learned by the men of great kingdoms.

He missed the Shire. It was not even a year since he had seen his dear home but it felt like ages. Sometimes he sat day-dreaming about going to parties and drinking and talking at the Green Dragon, enjoying a good beer with his friends, maybe stealing a firework or two from Gandalf's collection . . .

He sighed. That would not happen for a while. Though; if they won this, Gandalf would probably celebrate with fireworks in Minas Tirith – a thing that could not be missed by mischievous hobbits.

----

Pippin was sleeping. He had slept while riding Shadowfaxe with Gandalf at great speed, so the steady but slower pace on Éomer's steed was actually something he could sleep comfortably with. He slept. He was so very tired, for they had broken up from camp in the middle of the night. The air was warmer here. The men tense. Mostly he did not dream. He just needed to find some strength for the battle ahead.

It was dawn when they reached the last road to the Gates of Mordor, a dark road which the foes there used. Now it was empty. They called out that Elessar was coming, though Pippin was in oblivion. The sky was streaked with dark red colours, like blood spilled out from the struggling sun.

He woke by a nudging on his shoulder. The horses pace were slowing down, and clouds of dust rose by their feet.

"Hmm?" he murmured sleepily, knowing where he was but wishing he was home at the Shire waking with Merry at his side. To go outside, play some mischief . . . go to the Green Dragon . . .

He found lord Éomer staring down at him with intense brown eyes.

"Wake now, young Peregrin," he said, "we are close now."

Pippin managed a small, tense smile, and hid a yawn.

"I am ready for battle." He said and patted his sword that hung by his belt.

By now he was used to being called 'Peregrin' though only Gandalf and some elders back at the Shire usually used it. Pippin was a more suitable name in his option.

"Always ready. Anytime."

Éomer did not smile; he was too serious now for that, though his eyes smiled ever so slightly and were twinkling.

"That is well, young master hobbit." He said. "You will need to be." And they rode on, the men now silent, tense, but full of apprehension of battle.

Pippin's eyes widened as the Gates came within sight. They were enormous, pitch-dark, like the very gates to Hell. He saw almost nothing beyond, only rocky mountains by its sides, and the peaks of a small tower on each side of the Gates. Also they were black. Pippin shivered. Poor Frodo, poor Sam. They were somewhere beyond that, in a land of dust and fire. If there was an Eye of fire here and a mountain of it, there must he burning everywhere in sight. And dark. There was probably no sunlight there . . .

Ugh.

It made him miss Frodo and Sam, and Merry, even more. He shifted in the saddle, not able to hold back another shiver. Taking a deep breath to calm himself he pressed a hand against the handle of his sword. Soon he would have to use it. He did not like it, not at all.

It was deadly quiet now, even as the men made themselves ready, lining up. The air was so tense, the silence enormous. When a small stone moved over the dust, caused by a foot or a hoof moving restlessly, Pippin gulped; the sound seemed as loud as thunder. Even the horses seemed unable to make any sound else than soft snorts. They were not still. Pippin fiddled at his cloak.

Then Aragorn led his horse forward again, with one of the twins carrying a large standard with the White Tree of Gondor on his heels. They were quickly followed by Gandalf, with Gimli behind him, and lastly Éomer, so Pippin found himself galloping towards the Gates. But every steps seemed heavy. The short distance felt so far. When they stopped, the men behind them were left alone and tense. Pippin fiddled with his cloak still. Gandalf looked up over the Gate, probably seeing further than anyone else, but he did not speak. Aragorn did.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" he called up, and there was challenge in his tone. Anyone seeing him now could have called him mad. "Let justice be done upon him! " There was no answer, and the silence continued as they stood there, their steeds moving restlessly. Only the twin appeared fully calm, his old eyes fixed on the Black Gate. It moved, ever so slightly. The whole construction creaked, like wood under a great weight. Pippin shivered. So this was it then. Gandalf's eyes flashed some and Aragorn started backing away his steed; there was both doubt as well as impatience in his face. Pippin was too focused on what was happening to wonder what he thought. Then the Gates opened more. Beyond they could glimpse darkness and a blinding light, burning – the Eye. But it was not what the eyes of the soldiers focused upon. No, it were the hundred, thousands, of orcs, a dark army stretching on forever in the dark land. They came more and more into view. Marching steadily towards them, weapons ready. They voices echoed about each other like their loud steps. "Pull back...pull back!" Aragorn turned and was followed by the others. Pippin was afraid now, his trembling hands gripping about his sword tightly, clenching at the weapon, turning his knuckles white. It was his last protection. He had never before in his life thought that it would go this far, to a battle where there was no chance of surviving at all...

He closed his eyes for a moment, really hoping that Sam and Frodo had now made it to that mountain – Mount Doom. They had to. If they did...threw the Ring into the fire...they would be saved! Merry should have been here, right now. His older friend was braver...he could handle this sort of situation a lot better than him!

He had no idea where Frodo and Sam where. Now it was too late to ask. 'All the brave hobbit, huh?' he thought and took a deep breath, taking on a grim face. The gates were wide open now, and the black armies welled about them, encircling them, and there was no way to stop it. Aragorn had given orders to be still. Pippin could not stand still. He had dismounted and stood now shifting from foot to foot. He felt not at all like the 'brave hobbit prince' as the people in Minas Tirith called him and, later on, also Merry. Princes! Oh, he missed Merry....

Aragorn was crying out some words, calling to the soldiers, and Pippin listened. It was a comfort to at least know Strider was there. A friend, yes, Strider was a friend now. He had been longer than he had realized – Pippin realized he owed the man his life. Even if a new kind of hope lit up within him by the words, a courage, he yet felt nervous, and worried. Not as much as before. They might not win this. No, they could possible not... But they have to fight.

"Hold your ground, Sons of Gondor, of Rohan - my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight!"

----

_**Author's notes**: Was confusing with the Legolas-parts, eh? To make a short explanation of what happened, here it is: Legolas dreamed that he dreamed about Frodo and the Ring, and therefore also dreamed that he awoke and went to the balcony with the garden...in the end, he woke up from the dream-in-dream. These sequences are harder to understand in text than on film.... unfortunately. What happened from Pippin's POV however was not any dream, it was, reality. It's a time-difference, I know, but in the further chapters they will 'blend together' to the same time again..._


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's notes**: The last chapter was quite short... Try to give you a longer now then. At a off topic note: soon summer and freedom forever! Uh...for some months...forever those months... I finish school at Wednesday so after that I'll have much more time for writing. This piece must be finished during summer, right?! _

_For you who are unfamiliar with the books, here you will meet (shortly) a character from the RotK-books. He is a guard of Gondor, named Beregond. I will not give any longer introductions here but he was the first man there to befriend Pippin when he came to Minas Tirith and got the position as a Guard of the Citadel. Pippin also got to knew Beregond's 9-year-old son (But right now, I have forgotten the boy's name)... _

**----**

**Chapter 26**

**----**

Time was so slow now they were gone. The whole city was tense, wondering if they would make it – if the now very rumoured and spoken of king-to-be would lead his troops to victory ... or death.

Legolas was wondering as well when he joined Merry for breakfast. The hobbit had taken it as an important goal to cheer his friends up, and he finished his tale about Bilbo's grand party. Even though he felt tired and sore, Legolas was amused by the halfling's demeanour. His body felt strained, with an ache in his back, a twinge which would not leave him even when Merry had him laughing and forgetting his friend's perilous journey.

"Now Bilbo must have his time filled with all singing elves and his writing of his book...At least in Rivendell he's safe."

Merry finished his tale of his old friend and friend's uncle. In his story he had also, of course, added his siblings or family relationships with so many hobbits, distant or not, that Legolas could no longer count them. Elves may be wise and have higher intelligence than most people, but now he was tired since the dream and the lack of good sleep, and to remember all relatives within Shire's boarders, there'd be the need of a hobbit-dedicated family researcher. Likely a hobbit.

"You really should have been there, at the party." Merry sighed with a dreamy look, and not while thinking about the food they were eating. "It was so wonderful."

"But soon there might be some other reason to feast." Legolas smiled. "I am sure that Gandalf would love to bring some of his fireworks as well."

"That would be great!" Merry said and then his face suddenly saddened, and his voice seemed to belong to a sad five year old. Sometimes he wished he was a five year old so that this would not feel so heavy. "I miss him, you know, he and Pippin ... and Aragorn and Gimli. They are good fellows. I would hate to lose them for some stupid war."

The words were like a spear and Legolas felt he wanted to cry. But he did not, instead he smiled softly and squeezed the hobbit's shoulder. So freshly he remembered the time they left, the trail on the dust disappearing into the shadowed horizon. He wished Éomer was back. He needed the man, to know him, feel him again. He had barely met him and already he had fallen in love ...

"You will not lose them. They will come back." He wished he could promise that.

Merry smiled sadly. "Luckily I have you. I'm afraid no one else here can understand the grandiosity of the halfling folk, and my jokes." He chuckled.

"Would it be so horrible to be with only people of Mankind?" Legolas asked, but he agreed with the small hobbit beside him – better two strange creatures than one in a city full of Men. He knew that both of them received stares as well as whispers and awed looks. "I heard there is a rumour in the city, of you and Pippin. They say you must be princes from your distant homeland."

"Yes, it would be horrible." Merry said. "And _I_ am not the a prince, even if I wish it. Where did you hear this? Pippin mentioned something like it as well before he left. I don't like people staring so! It's rude, you know."

"They are curious." Legolas said. "You have been legends for centuries and suddenly, two living halflings just reaching their hips at full age come to their land, fighting for them. Would they not stare?"

"I guess so." Merry admitted. He picked an apple from a bowl on the table and tasted it. It reminded him some of Shire, of sneaking to Farmer Maggot's crops and stealing his fruits and vegetables and potatoes. When he offered another apple to Legolas the elf accepted. Merry was sure the elf ate too little. It couldn't be healthy.

"Did I tell you about the dogs?"

The dogs? The halflings quick change of topic surprised Legolas. He raised an eyebrow. "The dogs?"

"Aye, Farmer Maggot's got those. Big ones, mind you. Frodo's always been afraid of them, so when we crossed maggot's crops, um, snapping some things on the way, they barked so loud they could be heard down the way to Bree. Poor Frodo looked like he'd seen a ghost. He's been afraid since he's been a child, you know, and when Maggot came yelling angrily with raised colter and the dogs at his heels, it was almost too much for him…"

He chuckled suddenly, and Legolas almost laughed at the tone Merry used to describe 'poor Frodo' with. He let the words wash over him.

"But Maggot is very good and friendly, he gave us food and tea and a place to sleep for a night – and his dogs are just as friendly. He just has them to warn him of intruders at his farm ... I made a promise not take any more of his potatoes or carrots, though ... or take the shortcut over his crops to the mushrooms," he added, looking slightly downfallen.

The hobbits loved mushrooms. Legolas had realized that early during the quest. When there were any of those to be found, they _would_ be found and eaten. But halflings were masters at cooking – and eating. Sam loved to, at the end of a long day of wandering and struggle, take out his pots and his little bag of salt and make something delicious. Even out in the wild he managed that. Legolas was no master at cooking; he did not even appreciate it so much. He ate because he had to, not because he wanted it. There was always something puzzling with the halflings ...

Legolas chuckled when he realized that he should not mention that there are much edible things growing wildly in Mirkwood – including mushrooms.

"What is so funny?" Merry asked, demanding seriousness but his eyes laughed. "You elves are so strange. Sitting there laughing at a wall."

"Oh, I just had an amusing memory." Legolas said.

"Do you have many jokes?" Merry asked. "You must have gathered a few during those hundred years that you have lived ..."

"I can tell you, not a joke, but a short story," Legolas said and smiled.

At least Aragorn was not here to lecture him now afterwards, and Merry as well as he would need something happy to hold on to. Somewhere in his mind he though he would love to see Merry taunt the future king of Gondor for this ...

"It was when Estel, Aragorn was called so, was young and living in Rivendell." he began. "There had been a feast celebrating New Years Eve, and Estel and I were there with the twin sons of Elrond."

Merry's eyes were full of curiosity as he focused on what the elf said. A story about Strider? Well, he and Legolas had known each other a long time ...

"We had had a drinking game. Or rather, Estel and the twins had. Ai! When I came back from my father I found Elrohir asleep in a corner, looking like a peaceful little child ... Elladan and Estel where on their way to the stables, stumbling their way down the path. Elladan only mentioned something about a challenge; for we soon were followed by a group of young elven ladies. You see, one had caught the eye of Estel ..." He laughed; "And I cannot say he had a bad taste."

*~*~*

"You can manage?" Elladan whispered into Estel's round ear with a smirk, earning a glare from his brother.

"If not then I am a dwarf."

Elladan smirked even as he stumbled slightly and grabbed the stable edge to hold his balance as he backed from the horse. She had a white mane and dark eyes. She snorted when the drunken human tried, and somehow managed, to heave himself onto her back. There was no saddle on her back, as was the fashion of elves, but Legolas had for at least some safety for his friend managed to put on a bridle. She hated it, but accepted it. Estel did not seem to mind – probably he did not even see it. Elladan did not either as he, with only some unsteadiness, swung himself upon the back of his own steed.

Legolas wanted to smack his forehead really hard. This was ridiculous. What if Lord Elrond saw them? Or his father?! He would forbidden to be in their company forever!

"Right. Good luck, _Hadhod_!"

Elladan saluted and brought his bridle-less horse forward and out of the building. Estel followed. Legolas sighed. He had no choice now, had he? He could go and leave but ... He bit his lip. How could he pass such an opportunity to watch a spectacle as this?

He had no idea.

By the large path outside waited the group of maidens. Murmuring amongst themselves, giggling as they saw the riders approach, with tingling blushes on their pale cheeks. One with raven hair dressed in deep blue whispered into her friend's ear with her eyes burning at Estel. The message was obvious, to both the elves' and the man's delight.

_Oh Estel, why do you always seek so much trouble?_ Legolas thought. He had a feeling this would not end well ....

The elven horses knew their master's lesser capability, how their senses were dulled, and rode safely with their masters though they did not like it. At least, Estel's mare did not. She snorted and then and now moved as if she tried to reach and scratch an itch on her back. Elladan, who was clenching to his steed's mane and tried to look calm and collected at the same time, like he had not drunk those glasses of wine earlier, turned to Estel.

"First to the turn and back, remember?"

Estel nodded. He had made a bet; he was much faster and better at riding than any of his brothers. As Elrohir was unconscious at the moment, it left his twin to compete with him. If he won - which he was sure he would - the raven haired girl had promised to dance with him, and not Elladan, for the rest of the night (which Legolas doubted anyone of them would, by the looks of it). Estel had a goal. He was twenty, only a child yes, but when he saw the girl, he could yet have been fourteen. If not for actually being there involved in this, Legolas would have laughed at this ridiculous situation.

Estel was going to compete with one of the two most ... dreadful ... elves in Rivendell (or Arda). And he was drunk.

Legolas had another urge to hit his temple in the wall, but swallowed and took his place standing by the path. He had been named referee to this game.

"Ready?" he asked.

Elladan smirked. "Always ready. 'Wonder 'bout the _Hadhod_ though."

Estel growled. "'m not a naguarth, damn'd hill-skipper!"

"Hill-skipper!? I am not a hill-skipper!" Elladan accused him with burning eyes.

They did not even realize that Estel blurred the elven tongue all together now.

"What about tree-heading tree-hug! I think it suits you, hillie!"

"Suit me, you're mad, catastrophic mindless dwarf-son!?"

"Oh shut it will you!"

They stumbled over the words, and they barely knew (or heard) what they said to each other. Legolas almost fell to the ground laughing so hard he could not breathe anymore. Almost. _Should we let this turn into a verbal fight instead? It would be so much easier in their state_, he mused and cleared his throat. When he voiced his question, they glowered at him. Right.

"Fine. When I say one, you ride as fast as you can ..."

Estel rolled his eyes. "I _know_."

It was pointless to explain any rules to him right now. Legolas raised a hand. "Three..."

Elladan gritted his teeth at Estel. "At the moment, you don't seem to know anythi-"

"Two..."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up!?"

The girls giggled, knowing the elven men were acting ridiculously. Even though charming, there were many much more sensible people than the twins and their friends around.

"One, go, go!"

The wood-elf's last call cut their bickering short, though it took some moments for their slowed down nerves to react. Off they went, leaving behind a group of ladies and an elf who could barely hold back his laughter anymore.

The horse's speed increased as they went, the hooves moving fast upon the ground, and the path (which, much to Lord Elrond's later dismay) was ripped apart with dirt spraying everywhere. Regardless the elf and the man continued on, though when they had passed a wooden gate vibrating under their feet, which was their point of turning, Estel's mare suddenly cast with her head and whined loudly, trying to buck her master off. Estel was too disorientated and his mind too foggy for him to really know what he was doing. He could not hold his balance, fell, but managed to get a hold on the reins. The mare grew wild.

Elladan won by far; coming across the ending line that had been marked on the path. But then Estel came, dragged in the dirt as he tried to stop his horse and get to his feet; his legs were moving trying to get him straight and walking again.

Legolas laughed, and the ladies seemed both giggly and disappointed, and left with Elladan once he had put his horse back in the stables. But instead of leaving, Legolas cautiously walked forward murmuring to calm the horse. Hearing a soft elven voice, she stilled and Estel rolled off into the dirt of the path.

He felt so groggy. The world spun around him, he wondered if he'd been used as a dwarven hammer, in some dark blurry mine. El' had said something about a dwarf ...

Reaching out, Legolas got hold on the reins and gently took them off. "Go, you find your own way," he whispered and stroked the mare's mane. She obeyed.

Estel was so tired and had to have Legolas to help him stagger to his feet. "What happened?" His voice was fuzzy.

Legolas started to grow worried, for he knew that human bones might be tough, but if Estel had hit his head ... This could be either nothing, or very bad. "You and El had a bet, remember, about that lady? You fell off your horse. I am sorry, Estel, but it seem you have lost."

Estel gasped. "Fell off...? Valar! Ada's goin' to kill me!"

Legolas smiled. So Estel must be not so damaged after all. "Do not worry, my friend. I shall do my best at keeping you alive. Now, should we not leave and find you a bed? You look a little bit groggy..."

He helped his friend walk by having him leaning over his shoulder. The elf took practically all of the man's weight.

"Froggy?! Me's froggy?"

And Legolas laughed himself breathless while the man, angry and embarrassed, did not have a clue. Afterwards, Aragorn would remember a surprising amount of this evening, to his friends' amusement and his own dismay.

*~*~*

"How could you remember in such detail?" Merry wondered suddenly.

The story was the most amusing thing Legolas had ever told him – he was laughing too much to eat. Actually, it was about the only story Legolas had told him.

"I mean, you said Strider was just come of age ..."

"Aye, he was just twenty years old." Legolas said. "T'is both good and sad that elven memory is so sharp ..." He smiled sadly and then chuckled suddenly. "Though when Aragorn becomes king and when he has sit upon his throne for years and years, I might yet be able to taunt him with this; bringing it up at ... _inappropriate _times."

Merry laughed. "I can imagine. Remind me to be there when you do so, and I'll bring Pippin as well – it'll be hilarious to see the look on his face!"

Legolas opened his mouth to speak and carry the conversation on, but a fluttering kick in his stomach took him off guard, and he gasped and dropped the half-eaten apple. It felt a long time, suddenly, since the babe had first made aware of himself. Legolas knew that soon he would not move at such irregular times as he did now, he would probably think it best to sleep during the day and when Legolas settled for sleep, the baby would think it the best time to move and play within his mother's womb.

"What is it?"

Legolas smiled and gently guided Merry's free hand towards his tummy. First there was no movement, but then after a moment feeling the slight pressure the baby kicked again.

Merry's eyes widened. "Oh! It must be a big one now, right, in there? Did you feel that?"

Legolas chuckled. "Aye, I felt that."

Merry drew away his hand but his eyes yet held some awe. What strange thought it was now, that Legolas really carried a new life within himself. And now it was not still anymore – it moved as well. Merry wondered if it wanted to get out soon. It probably wanted. It must be pretty uncomfortable to be in there...and for Legolas as well. Well, safe, but uncomfortable.

"When will the baby, you know, come out?" he asked. He was somewhat intrigued of _how,_ but guessed it would be to embarrassing to ask such a question.

"There are yet some four and a half months I have to wait," Legolas said. He picked up his half-eaten apple to finish it.

"That's a long time. I hate waiting; it's so boring," Merry said.

Legolas smiled. His own waiting for his child was not one he could call boring...

-----

The Nazgûls circling above stole much of their courage. Pippin did his best to ignore the black flying creatures, but their chilling cries were loud and could not go unheard. He was swallowed in the battle. Soon he lost sight of both Aragorn and Gimli, though he could see flashes of Gandalf's white clothing and his glimmering elven sword. The wizard looked taller than any other men right now, in battle.

Pippin was tired. Afraid, but the fear had been pushed away with anger and all will he could master. He lifted his ashen face for a moment to the sky and then he saw something under the heavy clouds that made his face shine slightly in new hope. Large feathered creatures came down attacking the dark one's from Mordor, the Ringwraiths and their steeds.

"Eagles! The eagles are coming!"

This moment of relief was not left unnoticed among orcs and men. The orcs attacked more fiercely, they fought among themselves in their tight lines to be the first to go and kill the Gondorian army. But the men of Gondor and Rohan fought with more strength and courage, as the eagles took down some of the Nazgûls and crushed them down upon the black armies.

Pippin was surprised when he saw a somewhat familiar face in the mass of fighting. He called out after the man but of course he was left unheard. The hobbit tried to fight himself the way over to him, but such a thing was hard being half as tall as most beings here – men and orcs. The trolls did not make things easier. If he fell, he might never have a chance to rise again, being crushed beneath larger heavier feet.

"Beregond!" The man looked to be in trouble. He was attacking a large armoured troll's leg with his sword. Pippin realized his panic when he saw that Aragorn was behind almost crushed by the troll's foot. "Aragorn!" He let out a battle-cry and unleashed his strength on the troll, burying his sword in its ankle.

It roared loudly in its pain, striking out with its fists to wave away the enemies around. That moment of broken concentration gave Aragorn opportunity to bury a knife deeply in the troll's foot. He was released and rolled to his feet, despite to the aching in his chest and his tortured lungs. In a moment he had drawn his sword again and was read to fight. His eyes shone of determination, even though his limbs were weakened.

They were about to die soon. He had had that feeling for a time now, for Frodo's road was perilous, and he might not be there by the Mount Doom yet. He might be dead. And Aragorn knew his men were far too few, too few to strike down the armies of Mordor and win this battle. They could not win this battle...

Beregond looked at Pippin with wonder as he saw the small hobbit strike the troll's leg. Indeed, these halflings carried more surprises withing them than he knew. This was the first time he saw Pippin draw his blade in battle. The troll stumbled away from them, but it was yet seen as it was taller than two men standing upon each other's shoulders.

But the troll was not the only thing that was fleeing. The Nazgûl's appeared to be mad, they flew at every direction, screamed, before they turned southeast toward dark clouds and a large hovering mountain.

Mount doom.

A wind swept over them, orcs and men in the battlefield. The troll gathered monsters and orcs and they fled in the opposite direction than the Nazgûls, as if they knew... They knew something was happening. Something was breaking. Screams filled the air, and far away burned the great Eye with anger, madness, confusion...and pain as his lands broke.

The ground shook. Pippin could only stare at the tower as it swayed, started to fall to the side, slowly, faster – and when it hit the ground the Eye was gone, burned out. Stone broke into a million pieces as the Tower collapsed. Around them, monsters of evil fled.

The Ring had been destroyed.

"FRODO! FRODO!"

The men hoorayed, and Pippin raised his sword as long as he could reach. Evil was gone now. The sun broke through the dark clouds of Mordor. The lands were breaking apart on its bases, the mountains cracked.

Fire exploded from Mount Doom in the horizon. Pippin staggered, his breath caught in his throat.

Frodo had succeeded ... he had been in there, he had been by or inside the mountain that exploded... He could not have survived that... Pippin had never before felt so small. Frodo was dead. Sam was dead. The though broke him down into tears. Pippin's sword lay useless on the dusty ground.

The quest was over.

Aragorn though he had never felt so much relief. And so much grief, for he knew just like Pippin that Frodo must have died. But he did not cry, just stood there breathing. "It is done," he whispered. "It is over."

Sauron's power was over. When Aragorn returned to Minas Tirith, he would be crowned King and the world would be at peace.

The relief and happiness bubbled among the men but Pippin felt alone. He found Gimli among the men on the battlefield, and the dwarf was happy and sad as well. They would soon leave, back to Minas Tirith and Gondor, but first Gandalf had something to do. For he held a hope about Frodo and Sam that the hobbit did not. While he left all commando and things to do with war to Aragorn, the wizard called for aid from Gwaihir, the largest of the Eagles and the lord of the winds. The great eagle lifted the wizard easily as he was nothing but air on his back, and brought also with him two other of the great birds. Pippin stared after them with tear-filled eyes as they disappeared among clouds, dark as pale, into the lands of Mordor, towards the Mountain of Doom.

----

It had been done.

This sudden relief was like a stone lifting from his heart. Legolas paused from moving as he felt this. Lifting his eyes over the edge of the white stonewalls, he saw the darkness over Mordor fade, it staggered weakly.

He and Merry were in the gardens outside the houses of Healing. There were only a few small trees here but they were comforting, a slight reminder of home and the calmness of his own gardens there. And now, they sang.

"It is done."

Merry lifted his head, from where he sat on the grass, chewing on an apple and looking like he was drawing something on a piece of parchment. "Huh?"

Legolas smiled and looked from the horizon to the hobbit. "The Ring has been destroyed."

Merry's eyes started to shine, and a smile started to made his whole face shine. "What? Really?" He did not know how Legolas could know such a thing – but he was an elf, a creature of light. Maybe they felt the differences in the world, how it changed, and now Legolas felt how this evil had been destroyed.

"Yes. It is done now." Legolas' smile widened some as did Merry's. But the elf knew that now that he Ring and its powers were gone, so must also Frodo. This quest had been foreseen to take his life... This sadness was seen in his eyes.

But Merry's smile grew into a laugh and he started to hum on a song Bible had written so long ago, about adventure and light and heroes. Legolas laughed with him only not so loud. When the halfling started acting like the child his soul was, he stood and grabbed Legolas' wrist dragging him into a dance.

"It's done!" Merry stilled. "You look sad."

Legolas smiled, but this look of sadness yet lingered in his deep blue eyes. "Frodo made a great sacrifice to get the world rid of this evil."

Then the truth dawned upon him and Merry felt he wanted to cry. Frodo had paid..paid with his life. That must be it, or else Legolas would not be so melancholy. He felt he wanted to cry and laid his arms around his friend, first hesitantly – the elf might not like bodily contact, even a hug between friends. Legolas accepted the embrace. Merry pressed his ear against the swollen belly.

There was a kick. "Ouch," he murmured. "The little one kicked me."

Legolas raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, but did not say anything. This day was a great one, he knew that. For him as well, this was a great day. Not because anyone knew it... He glanced down at the halfling below. Merry's eyes were glued on the horizon, his face turned toward Mordor – where Pippin and Aragorn were; where Gimli, Gandalf, and Éomer and the army were. Legolas sighed. This day was important for him for another reason than the destruction than the Ring – this day one year ago, he had met Egil for the first time.

---

_**Note**: The story (marked between *~*~*) that Legolas told Merry, it began in to be told in Chapter 12 (when Legolas told Gimli). I did not take it detailed here in the beginning, if you noticed. About their bickering, I turned some words. When Estel/Aragorn said 'tree-headed tree-hug' he actually meant 'tree-hugging tree-head' but as you can see, his tongue stumbled... _

_**Reviews! I got over a hundred now, thank you, thank you XD**  
glostarz: Thanks for the beta!_

_Elinka: Hey, found another one? Maybe I should take the time to hid more of those! Glad you liked this again anyway, and thanks for the review._

_Thynga: Egil's reaction would have been ... interesting. But I think elves react differently toward such things than men would... right? xD He'd probably understand in a way, you know, had he seen but still been dead... _

_mikinyet: Aye! Things are bad (hope they don't go to worse)... Thanks for the review! Soon we'll find out how things will go...won't we?!_

_Ninfea di Luna: Oi, French :) was kinda hard time since I read it so, I understood mostly just some words in you review. But thanks for it anyway, maybe can give me a hand translating it for me? (My French is yet at a newbie level...) Merci :)_

_**Elvish:**  
Hadhod - dwarf_


	27. Chapter 27

_**Author's notes: **Elves got sharp eyes but I don't really know how sharp they are...so if you think that Legolas impossibly can see in such a detail from that distance that's described below, sorry, that's my bad._

_About the energy of Merry and Pippin (when they have it): I somewhat believe that when hobbits are happy, they have the energy as they have drunk some ten Redbulls..._

_I'm soon off on a holiday with my family, so, if you wonder where I am, I'm on a place without running water and Internet-connection (thank goodness there's at least electricity!). _

_Thank you glostarz again for the beta !_

_**Reviews:**_

_Ninfea di Luna: Oh, that's okay xD It may happen once in a while that I make a review or comment in Swedish when I have read something in English, so. Glad you like, as always, and thanks for both reviews! A French forum? Omg! Someone actually spreads this fic! Thanks to ya :D Some more of Legolas' pregnancy will be seen here. And I think that Legolas is great to have a friendship with halflings. Elves and hobbits are greatness. By the way, the story ain't not yet over. I have still some evilness *muhvaha* in mind...._

_On an off topic-note, school's over! Youpie! _

_mikinyet: Thanks for the review! Oh, poor Aragorn ... And don't worry, I don't think Aragorn would dare allow any elf have a speech. He's got Gimli and his dwarven friend's axe, you know... At least the ring's gone! But not all obstacles are over... _

_Elinka: More hobbit-elf moments will come, as always! I believe Merry will soon want to add Legolas to his own and Pippin's gang...of mischief! I took some of your words about Sam and thought about it, you're right! So I did add some of him here. There's a weakness for feet-haired and pointy-eared I've got, haha...xD_

**----**

**Chapter 27**

**----**

Four days later, a horse and a rider came towards Minas Tirith at great speed. Legolas spotted them first with his elven eyes. As soon as they were within hearing range, the man upon the steed broke into cries of happiness. He carried with him the news of victory.

Spotted some few miles behind them, Legolas could see lines of men, warriors from Gondor and Rohan. Aragorn had returned.

The message spread like a large wave through the city. Children were once again seen on the streets, men and women sang and cheered. Lost in this chaos, Merry ran around in the corridors of the Houses of Healing to find his friends

."Éowyn, Lady Éowyn, Lord Faramir!" He cried as he rushed up to the pair. "Do you hear?!" He was bouncing with energy.

"Aye, we do," Éowyn laughed. Faramir laughed as well and kissed her cheek in a way lovers do; but Merry was too happy and relieved to have Pippin returned to have any thoughts about it.

"We must meet them at the gate!" Merry cried, now ignoring all the rules the healers had issued for them.

He rushed like an arrow from a bow down the corridors, down to the streets of this higher level of the city. He could see the procession of armoured men like glimmering spots below, with Aragorn riding in the lead. Of course the halfling could not see the man, but Legolas stood by the balcony garden, watching and smiling. He saw the unmistakable long black cloak the man wore over his shoulders. By his side rode Elladan and Elrohir, two identical faces, and one of them carried a standard with the White Tree and the Seven Stars. Behind one of them, Pippin sat, though Legolas could not see that. Behind them rode Gimli.

But that was not what Legolas' eyes focused upon. No, he was watching a certain man riding before the riders of Rohan. Éomer, and above his head flickered the green colours of Rohan. They were back.

_They had survived._

For some moments he stood there, watching as the parade stopped just before they entered the gate. It had been rebuilt when they were gone, though it was not yet fully functional. After some moments, the long lines of men continued into the city. Cheers and hoorays and cascades of white flowers followed them as they went up the streets. Legolas followed with his eyes, before he took his leave from the balcony to walk to the large white plateau and meet them. The riders lessened soon so that only the leaders and their body-guards came riding up the hill to the White tree. Merry was there now, and Faramir and Éowyn as well.

Pippin and Merry were reunited with each, other dancing and laughing. Faramir bowed to Lord Aragorn and the twins, as he knew their names quite well, and they bowed in turn. Their horses were led away by servants. It was a mass of reunions, with laughing, hugging, and kissing. Éowyn pulled her brother in a hard embrace.

Legolas watched, but then Gimli saw him.

"There you are, laddie!" he embraced his friend. "See, I was worried you'd had some stupid elven idea again and tried to follow us. But I'm glad you didn't."

"How so, master dwarf?" Legolas could not help but ask, with a raised eyebrow that Gimli scowled at.

"It'd be the most troublesome, tiresome, dreadful trek ever, if I had been forced to search the whole of Ithilien and more just to find you. You'd surely be lost, I mean, elves must have a really bad sense of direction."

Legolas glared at him but smiled. "Now do you wish me to tell you how dwarven senses are? You would have been able to, if not you had lost some on your way here!"

"Is that all you have to say, elf?" Gimli asked laughing. It was good to be back, and good to find his friend in this mood.

"Obviously, it is what you have to say," Legolas said. "As it was you who started by saying it. Speaking is at least not a sense you have seem to lost!"

Where he a bit taller, Gimli would have hit the elf in his head, but now he was too short for that, and he did not dare to risk giving him a hard nudge in his stomach with his elbow, so he simply glared.

"I promise you, if you mention anything about ale, or horses, I am going to kill you!" He reminded the elf.

This caused only Legolas to laugh, and Gimli had never thought it so good to hear his friend's voice like that. He could not help but marvel at the elves' beautiful voices.

Éomer had never before seen his dear sister so happy. Éowyn was shining, in a way that her pale features had never done before. True happiness. He had a feeling that more than just the defeat of Mordor held a part of it. He greeted her warmly, and when they broke their embrace he could see her from the corner of his eye go and embrace Lord Faramir. But his attention was caught by Aragorn, who thanked him as well as the others gathered, before the king-to-be left with Gandalf. There were many preparations do be done – the man would be crowned king. Faramir and Éowyn followed them. The halflings were deep in conversation.

As he had more view of the plaza, Éomer saw someone he had wished to see for days now. Standing by his dwarven friend, talking and laughing and probably teasing, was Legolas, now clad in a dark, simple tunic in forest colours and plain leggings. But even though dressed in dark muted colours, he seemed to shine. Éomer had almost never heard him laugh before. The sound was wonderful.

Smiling wide, Legolas looked up as the dwarf muttered at something he had said, and met Éomer's watching eyes. Time seemed to slow down for a moment. Legolas smile faltered for a moment, like he for those short seconds had been pulled into a trance upon seeing the man's familiar eyes. Then Éomer smiled. Legolas' smile returned and now his eyes shone. They said nothing to each other, simply smiled. They felt no words were needed.

But the look in Éomer's eyes changed when Gimli, impatient to follow the others inside, pulled at the elf's wrist. He followed, but his eyes lingered on the horse-lord and his smile changed, it faded away. He did not recognize the look in Éomer's eyes.

----

Gandalf was secretive, but when he came from the Houses of healing, laughing, they understood. Frodo and Sam were all right, their injuries were healed thanks to the wizard and the healers, and now the two hobbits were awake and waiting for their friends. Merry and Pippin ran down the hall like children, screaming their friends' names. The door to their chamber was wide open, and on the bed sat Frodo, next to him was Sam, and they were smiling.

"FRODO! SAM!" They were attacked by two bouncing hobbit cousins.

Gandalf stood by the bed laughing at their behaviour, and then Gimli came into the room, humming and clapping his hands.

"This was a work well done, lads!" He said and embellished his words with some dwarfish that he did not translate for them, but his words were happy. He was quickly followed by Aragorn.

Frodo had never seen Aragorn like this before, for even though dressed in fine, one could say royal, clothing in Rivendell – now his face shone. That was when Frodo understood the cryptic words Gandalf had given him as he awoke.

Aragorn was the new king.

Sam was on his feet, bouncing, and he had never before felt like this.

"Strider, isn't it Strider!?" He cried. "Is this all a dream? It feels like a dream, it's been a while since I woke and now all this!" And he cried like a child overwhelmed by happiness as he was.

"Aye, it is Strider," Aragorn laughed, "and Aragorn as well."

But then Frodo frowned slightly. They were only seven in this room. He knew that Boromir should not be here, he was dead – but they could not have lost another!

"Legolas, where is he?"

Aragorn smiled wider and looked at Gimli. "Would you please go fetch him, master dwarf?"

Gimli smirked. "He's quite shy now, you see lads." He explained shortly and went over to the door. Frodo could not see the shadow of someone standing there.

Pippin was full of eagerness that only a hobbit can posses and could not hold himself any longer.

"He's pregnant!" He cried happily. He received a slap over his head by Merry, who hissed at him even though his eyes twinkled.

"Didn't we promise to keep it a secret!"

"Yes, until we met Sam and Frodo that is!" Pippin laughed at Frodo's shocked face.

Sam looked up; this was one thing he'd never heard before.

Gimli entered the room again, dragging Legolas by the wrist. The elf looked slightly flushed. He had of course heard everything from this room, much to his friends' amusement. Sam's jaw dropped as he saw him because his hobbit eyes were very focused on Legolas' middle and he saw the bulge on the elf's otherwise thin body.

"Must I be dreaming yet!" He cried, between laughing and sobbing. "This is the most wonderful thing I've ever heard. Elves and kings and babies, this must be a dream!" After all, he was a simple gardener from the Shire. Elves were strange wonderful creatures. Sam had never before experienced this sort of happiness.

Legolas managed not to say a word, but soon he started to smile. Still, his cheeks burned.

----

He found Éomer in the corridors busting with people and doings. The man did not say where he was going, and let the elf lead him to the corner of the more private garden. Privacy. Legolas knew they needed it. Questions tugged at his mind, and he was sure Éomer had them too.

Once they were outside anyone's sight, Éomer kissed him fully, taking him off guard - but he welcomed the kiss, because it was close, real, warm, and he needed it. He sighed when the kiss broke.

"Éomer," he murmured, "we need to talk..."

The man did not let go of him, did not let his hands drop from their hold of the elf's arms. "Aye..." he answered just as quietly. "I wonder so much about you..."

Slowly he traced a finger across the elf's lips. The elf was a marvel. Any artist would know this to be a masterpiece, and the horse-lord could never deny that Legolas was beautiful. That was a word he had never used about any male before – but no other word would describe him.

"Will you speak to me, of him?" He needed to know.

The elf was happy to see him but melancholy, and had laughed so few times in his presence. He wanted to see him open and smiling, shining like he had done when they arrived.

Legolas' blue eyes saddened, but he nodded. Éomer wanted, needed, to know. And deserved to. He valued him high. He understood, at least partly, why he wanted to know. Éomer wished to be his lover – fully his lover – and raise the child with him. At least he hoped so. Egil was the child's father. Legolas knew that he would tell his son or daughter the truth, about him and Egil.

"I will." He murmured and let himself be guided to a stone bench where they sunk down to sit shoulder to shoulder. Éomer's thumb was gently circling on his shoulder.

In slow, trudging words, he began to tell him. He had met Egil during war, as war took over the lands at most times. Injured, the elf had been brought to the palace and he came with a warning that large troops of orcs were nearing the forests. They were many, so many they dared to risk attacking the dark forests.

"The first two times I was alone with him, he was laying injured in a bed." Legolas remembered. "He had me taken by a spell. I wanted to know him, become his friend, find out everything about him. My father, of course, would not allow such a thing. I have friends among the guards and I have two personalities with them – one that is laughing, talking, joking among them, one that takes command over them. Thranduil still is not pleased about that, so when Egil and I soon saw each other as friends ..."

He shook his head. "We hid it, he and I. I was in my second world with him, took command, and only in strict privacy I allowed myself to_be_myself. It took time before we both knew that we were falling in love with each other ... It would be troublesome, of course it would. His only connection to the palace was his father, who was a council there – but my father sees them as only shortly valuable, they are only servants like the rest of the household ... If he found out about us, he would be mad – banish Egil or me, or worse."

He felt Éomer's arms tense around him, but the man did not say anything, did not judge, only listened. Legolas sighed and rested his head upon the man's shoulder.

"Out private meetings became less with more time between them, but each time we were together longer. We sometimes found time for whole nights with each other. We talked, kissed, and in those ways opened up for each other. But there was no time – not when it was war – for us to know each other."

"Three and a half months after we had first met, Aragorn, at that time mostly known as Strider or Estel among the elves, arrived in Mirkwood. He had the creature Gollum under his charge, and had been sent to us by Mithrandir. Gollum would be kept as our prisoner. My father put the creature under my guard. I have dozens of elves under my command, and Egil had become one of those ... He refused to be commanded by any other."

That particular memory made him chuckle, but it faded away as fast as it was there. He closed his eyes for a moment. The loss of Egil was yet so fresh in his mind...

"Gollum escaped by the help of orcs. We had a large oak in which we let him sit by the top and enjoy the fresh winds ... but he refused to come down, and the guards waited by the foot of the tree until nightfall. Then the orcs attacked, took them off guard. Either the men were killed or taken by the orcs for their evil doings ..."

He did not open his eyes and didn't see that Éomer' eyes were focused on him and not on the horizon. The words floated from the elf's mouth. Legolas felt that he wanted to cry, that once again he was a weak child in his parent's arms. But he did not cry.

"Egil was there. One of the guards survived, he was sent away running at all haste he could master to find me. Warning me. That moment I only felt panic – I knew Egil was there. So I ran, grabbed the weapons I had, and ran towards that oak."

"It was too late when I arrived. The men lay dead or dying on the ground ... Gollum was gone as were the orcs. Egil was there. Dying. I thought that I would die too, when I saw him ..."

He could say no more words, they stuck in his throat. The air felt too thick. He swallowed several times to try continue and hold back the tears, but he could not. Éomer murmured softly and rocked him like a child.

"I miss him," Legolas whispered, "I miss him everyday."

----

The crowning of Elessar, the one day so many waited for, was here now. Preparations were being made, people streamed up the levels of the city to the highest plaza. Unbeknown to the king-to-be, a party of riders had set out from Rivendell at the day of Sauron's fall and they were making their way to the city in haste. Gandalf knew this, and he had pursued the men to wait until the crowning the next day. There was time to be caught, he said, but they did not understand what he meant. Now was the day. Legolas had spotted a group of people some time ago and in his heart, he knew they were elves. That fact made him nervous. Elves were here. Probably not from Mirkwood, as his father had decided to rather hide his kingdom than show it, even now in distrust to the race of Men.

But elves ... They would see. He could not hide his condition now.

Arwen, Aragorn's betrothed, must be there in the company. Gandalf had mentioned something about a surprise, and this must be it. Either she would come for just watching the crowning of Elessar, or they would marry at the same time ... This meant Elrond was here. And this meant his guards had followed – including Glorfindel.

He was afraid. He admitted that he did not wish to face the Balrog-slayer, not know. The golden elf was bound by duty, honour ... Would Glorfindel accept that he had an intimate relationship with Éomer?

Would Glorfindel accept that he was pregnant?  
That was the question Legolas feared the most.

Now he was in his given chambers. He had been placed in new ones now, since Aragorn no longer had him tied to the Houses of Healing. His arm did not hurt any longer. These chambers were wide and white, but held a quite large window that gave him a view of the gardens.

Merry and Pippin were there as well. They were dressed in respective colours of the land they had honoured to serve – Merry in Rohan's greens, Pippin in Gondor's black and silver. Over their clothing they also wore their elven cloaks from Lothlórien. At the moment, they were talking and joking, catching up on what they had missed with each other over the last few days, and they insisted on helping Legolas find something to wear. Legolas had laughed but no one could resist when two stubborn hobbits were literately dragging you with them.

"I think dark green." Pippin suggested.

The twin sons of Elrond had come, bringing their elven friend a set of clothing. At dawn, the party of elves from Rivendell – and Lothlórien as well – had arrived, and Elladan and Elrohir had probably pursued their father to get some 'clothing for males with big tummies' (without getting him suspicious).

"Dark? Green's all right, but I think light then." Merry said and held up another tunic for the elf's eyes, ignoring his cousin's humphing.

"Blue's a lot better, it matches your eyes." Pippin said and quickly searched the pile of clothes and snatched a pale blue tunic that was long and less adorned but had open arms. "What about this one?" He was like Merry, practically bouncing. He gave the garment to Legolas, who was both laughing and watching in fascination, wonder and confusion at the creature of his demeanour.

"What about leggings? Boots or shoes or ... I found these slippers!"

"I think you sound like those clothing-addicted lasses back at home. It's not natural, Pip."

"Natural? You mean we should all go naked?"

Merry thwacked him.

Legolas used the time they babbled to search for fitting leggings, remove the shirt he wore and instead put on the pale blue tunic. One good thing was there were no thick, layered robes here. If there was one thing he was uncomfortable with in clothing, it was robes.

"What about this one?" Merry asked, and turned holding up a new garment that was white in colour. "Oh, that's great!" He exclaimed when he saw the slightly new outfit on the elf. "Finally you find some taste, Pip."

"And who said something about addicted lasses?!" Pippin almost exploded.

In the end, Legolas found himself dressed in pale blue and white. When he saw himself in the mirror, he felt slightly uncomfortable. The texture of the tunic was thin and light, not like the clothing he usually wore. He realized how pale his skin was, his arms quite thin even though muscular. No wonder Aragorn complained that he ate too little ...

"Flowers?"

"Flowers?!"

"In his hair..."

"Then he'd look like a girl!"

"Well, he'd be pretty as a woman..." Merry rolled his eyes at this.

Legolas chuckled. "No flowers will be needed, my friends." He laughed and sat down to comb his hair. He might be pregnant, but he was yet male and he had heard that the race of Men usually wanted a strict line between masculinity and femininity. Flowers were only worn by women here. The halflings busied themselves tidying all the garments that had been scattered around the room.

"What is it with all this new king-talk that goes around the whole city now?" Pippin asked suddenly. "Is it really true that Strider is the king?"

Legolas smiled up at him from where sat on the bed. "Aye, that he is. I doubt he told you at first, he is not a man who likes too much attention ... Especially not during a quest dangerous as it is. I was surprised as well when I was told of his heritage. He was young, only come of age at the time. I can say when he told me he looked a bit afraid, more afraid than overwhelmed."

"I would be as well." Merry said. "Still I don't understand. I mean, he might be a king-to-be, but in Bree he looked like the worst traveller I've ever seen, so rugged and almost ... terrifying. A ranger to be king! It's unbelievable. He looked the worst ranger in the world, rather. So grim ... and he still looks like he has the whole world upon his shoulders."

Legolas' nodded. "The first time I met him, I remember he said he wanted to be a ranger. Some of them – his kin – came and went to Rivendell. He grew attached. He knew another world, where he wanted to discover and explore and be the hero in adventures. When he found out his destiny, one already made before his eyes and he had to just follow, he wanted to escape ... he left for periods of time, discovered the world, new trails, new paths to follow, but he always came back to Rivendell in the end, maybe after months, or sometimes even years." Legolas looked sad for a moment, and put away the comb; his hair shone like glittering gold. "He was so changed. Not so young, so free as he was before ... The world had taught him hard lessons. Ai! That he must age so fast. He is like a brother to me, a little brother that could be taken for my elder."

"How old is he?" Pippin asked, taken by a curiosity that did not embarrass him at all over the question.

Legolas laughed. The halflings thought it sounded like silver. "He lost his youth in body long ago." He said, his eyes sad. "Eighty-three mortal years has passed him. Where he an elf, he would have been reckoned a child just come of age."

"Really? Has someone ever told him that?"

"Just because he has lived among elves, not men, many had a hard time accepting him ... he was so different." Legolas said. "Aged so fast ... While the rest of Rivendell mostly remained the same, he grew, passed by from a toddler to a young man to an adult in the blink of an eye." He put down the comb. His hair shone like gold. "Are we ready to leave?" he asked.

"Wait!" Merry exclaimed and pulled something from his belt, a small bundle that had been hidden by his cloak. "Elladan gave me this." He gave it to Legolas.

"Actually, it was Elrohir." Pippin chipped.

Legolas undid the ties around the bundle, and resting on the fabric in his hand was a circlet in a silvery metal. He chuckled slightly. _Thinking about everything_... he thought while he laid away the fabrics and put on the circlet with aged practice. It was a quite discreet circlet, like the ones they usually wore in Mirkwood during festivities or on other occasions when his father wished he used it. He had seen the two circlets that the twin sons sometimes wore – they were not as discreet. But well, they were known to like festivities, and the clothing that was brought with it.

"Now then?" He asked, smiling when both hobbits saluted with the same energy as ever.

"Yes sir!"

----

"Now comes the days of the king."

Aragorn had fallen on his knees in front of Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, who would keep the title of Steward until his line ended. Only a close friend to Aragorn could see that the man was nervous. Now was the moment when all paths of his entwined and his destiny was fulfilled. Never before had the people of Gondor been so quiet, full of thrilled wait.

Faramir smiled as he lowered the crown upon the King's dark head. "May they be blessed."

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn stood and turned so that the people had a full view of their King. They hoorayed and cast flowers and white rose petals into the air. Gimli the dwarf and Gandalf the White stood by the side of the stair, one looking in awe, the other in relief, at the king. And Aragorn slowly sang the words that Elendil had spoken long ago when he stepped ashore on these lands;

_Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien  
Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta_

The words were sung low and melodious, and the cheering crowd were silenced by this. But not only by this. The King slowly walked forward, bowing his head to Lady Éowyn and her brother, Lord Éomer the king of the Mark, and they bowed before their king. Walking slowly from the white tree towards the centre of the plaza was a party of elves. They were blindingly beautiful in the eyes of Mankind, all dressed in bright colours and their hair was like glittering silver and cascading black waterfalls. In the lead was one with deep blue eyes and golden hair flowing gently down his hips. He was male although such a thing could not easily be seen now. His face was sculptured like the following elves' – seemingly only to please the eye. A pair of high black boots reached his knees, a contrast to his otherwise pale clothing; the thin fabric of the arm-less garment he wore stretched over his swollen belly. The people watched and wondered. A silver circlet was placed on his head.

The king smiled at his friend. He looked very different than on the journey. The elf bowed his head before him, managing in his elven ways to look both happy and serious without carrying any certain emotions on his face. First the King laid his hand on his shoulder, before the elf did the same on the king. The crowd realized the two were friends, as the elf did not bow before the king with more than a nod.

Aragorn did not speak, for he needed not to. Legolas was a master at reading his eyes. A smile started to spread over Legolas' lips, and with slow movement he lowered his hand and indicated behind him.

The party of elves separated, and there, holding a standard with the Seven Stars that she herself had made, Arwen stood. Aragorn could not believe his eyes, for he had thought she would sail. Aragorn had never looked so in love.

Legolas stepped aside, consciously beside Éomer. The man smiled, and secretly sneaked his hand to grasp Legolas'.

When he and Arwen kissed, the crowd cheered again. So this was what Mithrandir had wanted to wait for...

---


	28. Chapter 28

_**Author's notes**: I admit not much action took place in the last chapter. I'm afraid action won't show up for a time now when the war is over, but one might never know... Sometimes I find it also hard to focus on both action and feelings, and Legolas pregnancy at the same time. Sorry 'bout that. Might get confusing sometimes. _

_We'd meet some more character here, but no OCs. You'll see who they are... Oh, and Glorfindel will appear, and I'm not sure if he's acting the way you think he should. _

_On a note about using the hobbits' names in their 'real form' (Peregrin, Meriadoc, Samwise, instead of Pippin, Merry, Sam) – I use them only when it is from a man's (or other creature's) viewpoint who does not know them well, for example Éomer and Faramir. Legolas and Aragorn on the other hand simply says 'Sam', 'Merry' and 'Pippin'._

_By the way, I changed a small detail in the last chapter – I deleted the small phrase telling that "Legolas had told him [Éomer] about his betrothal to another elf, a lord..." Éomer does not know yet._

_**Reviews:**_

_mikinyet: Thanks for the review! Always appreciated :) Um, about Glorfindel exploding though...he's on the edge of doing so!_

_Elinka: We love our hobbitsessss! What could be done without them? And Éomer and Legolas are taking more risks but gets more courage to show their relationship in the open now. Maybe there'll be some fluffy moments in the future, when everything's over with Glorfindel and Thranduil and all those guys who needs to know what's happened since the last time they saw Legolas x)_

_Ninfea di Luna: Thank you again! Can't believe that people likes this so much. And thank you, of course if you got time and moods to it, you can translate this! Maybe I would just beta the first chapters before that...and take time finishing your own pieces first! I wish I could read in French xD lol (Francaise et moi - c'est ne pas bien!) In the future, we'll see more and maybe a lot of the baby. He/she is going to take a bigger step into my (evil!) plot..._

_MDarKspIrIt: Thank you for the review. Next chapter's coming!_

_**Elvish:**_

_Hir – Lord_

_Ernil nîn – my Prince _

_Hir nîn – my Lord_

----

**Chapter 28**

**---**

Then the feast began. More honoured guests, the lords and ladies and the elves, and their servants, were by the plaza and inside of the palace, but the feast was spread throughout the whole city. People ate and drank, sung and danced everywhere. Music echoed through the day that soon turned to evening. Mithrandir was preparing a show of his must famous fireworks, much to the hobbits' delight.

Legolas avoided drinking wine and ale again, but otherwise the food and drink was gorgeous. The kitchen staff must have their time occupied now and before this feast. A rumour that the betrothed couple, Aragorn and Arwen, would have their wedding in just four weeks spread quickly among the guests. Éomer smiled and raised his drink. Legolas had spent most time in his presence, or in the fellowship's. He smiled back and raised his own glass, which not held wine but juice brought from Rivendell as a part of the wedding gifts.

"For you." Éomer whispered.

One knew of their trudging relationship, and even if he was ready to make it public, he knew that Legolas was unsure of such a decision. The wood-elf also seemed tense every time they walked past a group of elves, his eyes darting.

"For us." Legolas righted him.

Their glasses clinked like bells as they met. Éomer drank his goblet almost empty, but Legolas only sipped at the drink. He was supposed to be happy now, but he felt tense since the arrival of the elves. That was because he had seen Lord Glorfindel among them. The elf lord had not spoken to him yet, but had given him strange looks. It could not be good ...

"You seem tense." Éomer said. "You have been during the whole evening."

Legolas smiled and shook his head. "It is nothing ... I am only ..."

"Nervous? You avoid any contact with your own people. Why?" Éomer was actually worried. He now knew of Legolas' and Egil's relationship, and mayhap it had something to do with that. "Legolas?"

Legolas sighed and sipped more of his drink. "It is lord Glorfindel." He admitted quietly. "Officially between Rivendell and Mirkwood, I am his betrothed."

Éomer made wide eyes. Their talk was unheard in this chaos of dancing and singing, though the King might see the lack of movement in this corner.

"Betrothed?"

This was shocking news for him, and he suddenly understood all the anxiety. Not only was Legolas pregnant out of wedlock, which by elven customs was bad enough, but he was betrothed as well! And Lord Glorfindel was not unheard of among men, there were tales of a great elf lord who slayed a Balrog, died and came back to life.

Legolas nodded slightly, his voice dropping some more. "Aye. He is watching us now. He wonders, of course ... Had I not gone on the quest, I would have been his consort for months already. But..." He bit his lip.

"You followed the quest because of your child." Éomer realized.

The musicians ended the current song and started the next. They received applause, but not from the two in the corner, or from a small group of elves somewhere in the centre. There was Erestor, Lord Elrond's nearest councilor, and Lindir the minstrel and great singer, and Glorfindel. The three that were known from Imradis' household. Glorfindel had been looking at the two in the corner for a time. Now he excused himself from his own company and made his way over to them, making Legolas tense up immediately.

"_Hir_ _Glorfindel_." He greeted with a formal, but yet hinting at nervous, air about him. He gave a small bow, the gesture which was compulsory in Mirkwood's customs. He always did so when meeting someone titled Lord or Lady, at least of his own kind. But Glorfindel was not of Mirkwood, so he only returned the gesture with a nod.

"_Ernil nîn Legolas_."

Glorfindel was half a head taller than the other elf. His stormy eyes held more age than Éomer had ever seen in anyone's eyes. The elf lord greeted Éomer with a bow slightly lower than the one for Legolas, and by his statue, Legolas could see Glorfindel was offended by him. Clearly offended. And he knew why... And Glorfindel knew. He knew too much now, like the other elves did...

"King Éomer," he said, then turned to Legolas. "I would like to speak with you alone, _Ernil nîn_."

Legolas knew he had to explain. For a moment he stood quiet, meeting the elf lord's eyes. The elf saw at once the truth of his condition, the child nestled within his body; he did not sneer and his expression did not change in any man's eyes, but Legolas' saw the slight furrowing of his brow.

He gave a slight nod. What would he gain by refusing? Mayhap the lord may not forgive him, but maybe at least the marriage could - hopefully - be undone. Lord Glorfindel offered his arm, but Legolas did not take it though he fell in step with him, leaving behind Éomer who watched his back.

Éomer was tempted to follow, even though these affairs were not his to meddle in. He drank the last of his wine and put down the goblet on one of the trays the servants carried around. Not wanting to be suspicious, he did not follow the two elves directly, though he always kept an eye on them through the crowd.

Glorfindel led him outside where the sun painted red streaks against the horizon. The sounds of feasting were heard but they found some privacy by the pond next to the White Tree.

"You wished to talk, _Hir nîn_?" Legolas asked. As his elder, Glorfindel would have to explain first.

The elf lord sipped some of his own wine before he answered. "I was simply wondering how come I find you here,_ Ernil nîn_," he said slowly, "while our marriage should have taken place months ago. Maybe your disappearance with the Fellowship is a mere coincidence?"

His eyes pierced Legolas. He felt suddenly cold by the look in those eyes. He masked his nervousness with a stern face, deciding to go against rules of elder and younger that he had been taught.

"A marriage would be impossible now, my lord." He admitted with a strained voice. "I suppose I should apologize, and I ask for forgiveness. But t'is now too late for me to take a husband."

Glorfindel raised an angry eyebrow, and his eyes flashed. He was losing his patience.

"I cannot give any forgiveness, _Ernil nîn_. I am sure your father does not know. _He_ would not tolerate such a behaviour as yours – just look at you!" His anger turned mocking, and he leaned closer and muttered into Legolas' ear, making the younger elf shiver but definitely not from pleasure. "Pregnant ... out of wedlock, and to see you with that man ... you disgust me, _little whore!_ You do not deserve any respect or titles; one could not think you were Thranduil's son!"

Legolas took a step backwards, not sure of what to say – mostly he wished to hit this insolent elf that dared to accuse him of such things.

"Such words do not fit in the mouth of a lord." He hissed. "You seem not even near one."

That was the edge of it, what Glorfindel could take. Did this little brat not know who he spoke to? He raised a hand and it hit Legolas' face with a hard slap. The smaller elf stumbled backwards a step, and old instincts to fight and defend himself arose within him. Now he was more than glad that he had not married this elf. Strong hands grabbed his wrists and pulled him close. He felt disgusted.

"Were it not for that little – what should I call it, _by-product_ of your doings – inside of you, I would harm you much further." Glorfindel warned with a hiss in his ear.

He did not let go at once, he pushed Legolas' body against his own, clenching at his hair in anger. When he released the wood-elf he pulled free a few strands of gold. He gripped them hard in his hand like a treasure when he left.

Legolas stared after him. Most of all, he wished to fight, but for once he knew that it would mean more danger than before for his child. Even while unarmed, lord Glorfindel was a dangerous fighter – he was a harder match than ten orcs. Legolas knew that he could not beat him unarmed and pregnant. His head was filled with curses. In thought he threw them after the retreating lord like dirt.

Éomer boiled. He had seen how the elf Lord had manhandled Legolas and in his heart that had hurt, and he realized how dear the golden elf was to him. He hurried to the elf's side, gripping his arms in a gentle grip. There was anger and embarrassment on Legolas face. His cheek burned red after the hit.

"Legolas."

Legolas swallowed and tore his gaze from Glorfindel just as the elf disappeared inside.

"What was that?! I will-"

"Don't." Legolas said. "Do not go in there and confront him, please. He might have better temper later, but please, don't go in there. " It was not only because he wished Éomer to be unhurt. If they started a fight, he could never get over this. Glorfindel had not forgiven him. Soon, his father would know ... The thought scared him. Scared him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I am sorry." Éomer murmured. "I overreacted."

Legolas opened his eyes and shook his head. "No, you did not. It was I who did. I said things I should not have. Now I soon will have to explain to my father ... it might not end well."

Thranduil must be furious. He was surprised that the king was not here. Maybe the news of the coronation had not reached him yet. But for Arwen and Aragorn's wedding he would surely come with the elves from Lothlórien. After that, many elves would sail.

Legolas felt trapped and confused again. The war with Sauron had ended, but now another had started. His father would ... would hate him. Lord Elrond ... Oh Eru, Lord Elrond! He was here. He was ...

"Legolas, you are brooding. Tell me what it is."

"Lord Elrond! He knows of my betrothal with Glorfindel, and he holds contact with my father. Right now, my father might know of my condition." He rubbed is temples. What should he do? What should he say? First he had to confront his father ... maybe leave ... and what of him and Éomer?

He could not sail, not when he had found so many bonds to the peoples here in Middle-Earth. Aragorn, Gimli ...

Éomer held him. Held him and told him to not think about it now. Things could be dealt with tomorrow. The sun was gone now, the stars were fighting to be seen in the sky. Now there were no clouds to block them from view, no dark clouds from Mordor. From inside people cheered loudly, calling for 'Mithrandir, Mithrandir!' like eager children. Then four short beings rushed outside, two more ahead than the others. Merry was pulling at Pippin's arm.

"Come on! We might get there before him!"

Behind the two, Sam and Frodo more walked than ran, not in the same mood to cause mischief. The halflings stilled for some moments when they saw Legolas in Éomer's embrace. Then, Merry smirked and pulled Pippin on, who whined. Éomer smiled.

"But he'll make us wash the dishes again!"

Frodo gave the man and the elf a wondering look, slowly continuing to walk past. Things had changed. For a moment he wondered if perhaps the horse-lord, and king he had heard, was the father of Legolas' child. Beside him, Sam was watching too.

"I thought no other elves were bonded with men, mister Frodo." Sam murmured.

Éomer and Legolas pulled away from each other, and appeared to speak, their hands still touching each other.

"I did not either." Frodo answered softly. He did not. But that might mean the change to something good, he hoped.

----

Éomer gave the two halflings, Meriadoc and Peregrin, an amused smile and exchanged a glance with Legolas. The elf smiled.

"I think it is time for Mithrandir's fireworks." The elf explained; he had heard Pippin's comment about the dishes, Merry had not left that out in his story about Bilbo's party. "Let us find somewhere with a nice view." He suggested.

Éomer took his hand. "With you, I always have a beautiful view." He murmured, causing Legolas to laugh.

People were gathering at the plaza now, streaming out from the buildings. Mithrandir himself acted as if he was surrounded by children, and by those hundreds ages of Men he had walked on this earth, he probably _was_ surrounded by only children. He was lighting the first one of his fireworks. The hobbits were bouncing. It had been years since he had seen any fireworks; Legolas remembered that the last time he had seen them were on his two-thousand begetting day. Mithrandir had visited then, so long ago...

The sky cascaded with red and gold and green. The people cheered and applauded, calling for more. Many eyes were on the sky now, but Legolas looked over the plaza first. He saw Arwen laughing in her husband's embrace, Faramir was in a kiss with Éowyn. Music from inside still reached their ears. The musicians still played – they were planning to do so deep into the night. The night sang.

"It is so beautiful." Éomer sighed. He had not seen fireworks before in his life. It was indeed a sight. The night sky was filled with colours and different shapes.

Legolas could not see Glorfindel or anyone else watching them, so he laid his arm around the man's waist and leaned against him. It felt good. Never before had he been able to, or dared to, do so in a place filled with people...

"Aye." He murmured. "It is indeed beautiful tonight."

---

It was past midnight when Legolas excused himself to retire. It was a mere coincidence that Éomer did the same. Once they were out in a corridor empty of people, Éomer grabbed the tired elf around the waist and kissed his neck, causing Legolas to giggle.

"Not here!" The elf cried helplessly as the man suddenly scooped him up in his arms. "Someone might see us!"

"Right now, I do not know if I care." Éomer said. He refused to let the elf down as he carried him down the halls. "Where are your chambers?"

Legolas was resting his head in the crook of his neck. "So you will not let me walk at all?" He teased. "The second door on the left in the next corridor." Éomer carried his steps where he had been told, and nudged the door open with his foot.

They did not know someone was watching in disbelief.

Through the window that was half-opened now with white curtains flowing in the soft breeze, they could sometimes spot the glittering fireworks, a thousand bring colours in the sky that matched the brightness of the stars for a moment. Éomer lowered the elf on the bed and helped to remove the tunic and the boots, but let the leggings be. Legolas was not ready for such a step yet, and he was not so sure himself if he was. Then he tucked him in like a child, kissed him goodnight on his temple.

"Stay." Legolas murmured and grabbed the man's wrist when he moved to rise.

Éomer sank back again on the mattress. Legolas smiled sleepily and guided their clasped hands toward his belly. There was movement. Éomer watched Legolas' face with wide eyes filled with awe as the baby kicked again.

"He has been keeping me awake all night." The elf complained but sighed and felt sleep creep up on him, claiming him.

Éomer leaned down and smiled. "Luckily you do not have me keeping you awake yet." He whispered and kissed him. When he left the room, Legolas was fast asleep.

----

"It is unacceptable, my lord!"

Lord Elrond sighed, but was as always carrying his patience with him. The news Glorfindel gave him, about the Mirkwood prince's probable relationship with lord Éomer, and his pregnancy which was fully visible now for those who knew what it meant – they had shocked him, of course, but even more so Glorfindel's reaction. He realized how addicted the Balrog-slayer was to the prince of Mirkwood, not only to stabilize a connection between Mirkwood and Imradis, but for far more personal reasons.

"This marriage was arranged out of the needs in war." He said. "Now when the war is over, the needs may be lessened or even extinct. The choice of his lovers are not ours, Glorfindel, but his."

"King Thranduil will not allow this, _Hir nîn_." Glorfindel said sternly. He had told his lord now, but he had not told of his manhandling of the prince – after all, the brat deserved it. His own personal thoughts sometimes crossed with the words he told out loud. The 'My lord' came out pressed. "His son deserves no one lower than a lord, and he will not allow his son to be with a Man!"

"There are no options here but to speak to him." Elrond said calmly, used to the Balrog-slayer's shifting temper. "I am sure he has an explanation and reasons for his actions. But hearts sometimes act outside of our control, Glorfindel. You must accept this, like myself and King Thranduil."

Glorfindel sunk down on a couch, his half-emptied glass of wine in hand. This was ridiculous! The prince was younger than him, yet officially his betrothed. Only King Thranduil, father of the younger part, could only break this bond. Why did lord Elrond not understand, support him? He would have agreed at once! How could he accept that the prince was with child, out of wedlock even? _He was supposed to be a virgin,_ he thought. _And mine._

Elrond stared at him hard. Then he took the wine glass from his hand, and found no refusal. He put it out of reach from Glorfindel.

"My friend, there are more chances. Legolas chose this, we cannot change it. I am sorry to disappoint you, Glorfindel; but we cannot. Even if you were to marry him, then his child would not be accepted, and he would probably die from heartbreak being separated from those he loves."

"So there is no way?" Glorfindel sounded disappointed, but mostly angry.

"No, not with him."

---


	29. Chapter 29

_**Author's notes: **Some OC's appear here. You find their names in the Elvish-list...Thanks for the patience, the reviews, and everything. This chapter is a little late. I didn't know that Glorfindel would bring that reaction but, well, reactions are good!_

_**Elvish: **_

_Aran – King_

_Aran hir nîn – My kingslord (that's the most exact translation I can give you. Say it's more honourable than calling someone only Hir (lord) or Aran (king).)_

_Rochben – warrior (lit. Knight)_

_Hir nîn? – My lord?_

_Aran nîn – My king_

_Lifae – (name) kind of inspired by the sindarin word 'Fëa' ('spirit')_

_Farath – (name) from the sindarin word for 'hunt'. (In the text, he is mentioned as Farathion, the father of Lifae, or rather 'Lifae son of Farath')._

_Helegin – (name) from the sindarin word for 'ice' - 'heleg'_

_**Reviewers:**_

_Ninfea di Luna: Hey, thank you, thank you. Glad you like nad thanks for translating as well ! :D_

_Eressie: Thank you for the review. The Glorfindel here is kind of creepy and bad, I know, sorry . _

_In the future, or very soon, Glorfindel's behavior can be explained, why he's so angry at and at the same time *adiccted* to Legolas ... _

_Elinka: Thanks for the review. Oh, sorry about Glorfindel. People change, eh – maybe I can changed him to someone better, but what is fiction if not for some angst and angry, bad, twisted characters? I'm not a Glorfindel hater, and he's a good guy in his heart, but right now he's addicted like mad. Let Elrond smack some sense into him!_

_mikinyet: There's a reason I kept Elrond calm, that's because I don't think Legolas would have been able to take it if all the elves were angry at him, plus, Elrond is serious yet a softie, he cares a lot about people no matter if everyone else thinks they've done wrong (I think). Glorfindel will (maybe) get better in time ..._

**----**

**Chapter 29**

**----**

Time passed by slowly now. By each day, he felt like he would explode, torn between anger, worry and fear. Fear for his son.

Thranduil was pacing now. The room seemed smaller and smaller with each step. Seventeen days ago he had sent riders to different realms and given up upon finding Legolas on elven grounds. He must be among men.

Or worse.

He could be dead.

_Legolas could be dead._

The thought made his heart clench and he sank down to the ground, sitting on wooden floor staring out at the gardens below. The wall was opened with wide windows. It was raining outside. He found no power to rise again.

_Where was his little one?_

He regretted that he had sent him away to Rivendell now. He would have dealt with his punishment later, because Gollum had escaped and he had been in charge. Maybe it would have been better to lecture him in words rather than sending him away to show his shame for Lord Elrond. It had been a bad idea.

Five days ago riders returned from Lothlórien. They had found just scattered pieces of information about his son and they reeled in his mind.

_His son was foolish._

He had passed Lothlórien quite a long time ago in the company of seven others – two men, four halflings and a dwarf. They were on a dangerous quest of great importance. Not much else had they managed to hear. The White Lady was cryptic, even for an elf, in her answers and they could not read her thoughts. Right now, all Thranduil wanted was forgiveness, to have his son back ...

He had received an angry letter from lord Glorfindel who also said that Legolas had left Rivendell with this fellowship. But his anger was maddening. Glorfindel wanted the elven Prince found at once or else the marriage would be an impossible task. The anger was masked by fine words and false worries, but Thranduil recognized that anger and saw it. He felt it so often himself.

Glorfindel was _demanding_ Legolas.

A knock on his door broke his trail of thoughts. A servant stepped inside, bowed, but the King did not turn around.

"_Aran_, the rider sent to Rohan has returned. He brings news."

"Good. Good."

There was silence. Thranduil sighed. The servant waited for his King's decision. It took some moments before the King spoke.

"Good. I shall meet him in the hall immediately. No, send him to here to my study."

"Yes, _Aran nîn_." With that and a bow the servant left.

Thranduil sat frozen for some moments. His limbs felt old and weak. Slowly, he raised and stood. His missing son weighed heavily on his heart, and he felt it more with each morning when he rose from sleep – more and more he wished he did not need to wake up to rule this kingdom. For long nights he sat awake, anxiously awaiting news.

He took a seat by his wide desk, filled with work to be done, but the feather pen lay untouched. Often his most trusted councillors came and did what jobs could be done for their king. But today no one had opened the lock to the box of ink a single time. He looked up as there were two knocks on the door and a younger elf still clad in travelling clothes entered the room. He bowed before his king. When he was asked to speak, he did to with hopeful eyes.

"_Aran hir nîn_, it is said in the kingdom of Rohan that a company of one man, a dwarf and an elf, matching our dear Ernil's description, passed their lands some time ago."

"How long time ago, _rochben_?" He feared the worst.

"Not more than – months ago, _Arar hir nîn_. The company took part in the battle upon the Hornbourgh just a week after they had arrived, against the Uruk-hai. Not far afterwards they left in the company of the royal household for Minas Tirith. It is reported that at that time, both man and dwarf and elf were alive."

Thranduil's eyes started to shine some, rekindled by some hope. The warrior bowed again and waited for new orders.

"Go and fetch Helegin, my councillor, and tell him to hurry here at once. Then send word to Lifae Farathion to make ready an escort."

The warrior felt intrigued now. "_Hir nîn_?"

Thranduil stood, suddenly full of new energy – not one day ago he had felt this loss of a shadow in the east. Battle by Minas Tirith ... of course! That must be it. Somehow, the darkness of Mordor had been shattered.

"I shall leave for Minas Tirith at once."

----

Glorfindel was mad. Yes, _mad_. This was something that would never go unpunished in Thranduil's kingdom – that Legolas was showing himself so close with a man ... in public even!

There was not just anger. This anger ... it came from jealously. Of course he was angry and jealous! Legolas was his betrothed! By all means, the elven prince was _his property_! He felt like he was going to explode. He had to confront that man and ask Legolas out about the child and the father of it. If Éomer was the father he would rip him to pieces.

_Thranduil said his son was free. Thranduil had said his son was a virgin._

The elven king's reaction to this would be even worse. Glorfindel did not understand how his lord could act so calmly about this. It was a scandal! Were he the lord of the Valley, he would not tolerate this ... He would ... he would ...

He had left Lord Elrond early after the feast. The lord was probably talking with his daughter and King Aragorn. Aragorn ... Perhaps he had some answers on the Mirkwood Prince's behaviour.

It was now deep into the night and the celebrating had started to fade even in elven ears. But people were on the streets and elves still played and danced and sung in the Great Hall. Glorfindel made his way there. Perhaps King Aragorn was still there.

The hall had been almost emptied when he came there. Servants were silently and loudly starting to move away tables and dishes, cleaning up after the feast; as there had not been a reason to do so for a very long time and in such a grand size, the not so silent party had left spilled wine on the stone floor. Somehow this reminded Glorfindel of the Midsummer eves in Imradis and celebrating the new year - and of the twins, of course.

The King was shining, arm in arm with his love. The two where having a conversation with Lord Elrond; politely Glorfindel interrupted them.

"My lords, my lady ..." And he turned to Aragorn asking to speak in a little more privacy.

He did not miss the warning look Elrond gave him; the elf lord knew more than he showed about Glorfindel's intentions. To occupy his daughter he offered to bring her to her chambers, and they left the hall arm in arm. Arwen had not looked so happy for a long time.

Glorfindel turned his attention to the king, who led them outside into the chilled night. Lanterns and different lights were lit almost everywhere, the city itself was glittering like a starlit sky.

"You wished to speak, Glorfindel?" Aragorn had had him as both teacher and friend, long ago. It had taken time but nowadays Glorfindel did not wish him to call him lord.

But right now Glorfindel was not thinking about old days.

"Aye, milord." For a moment he paused before he continued; "I am quite disturbed, you see; for earlier today I saw my betrothed in a ... rare condition and also in the company of another. Did you know any of this?"

His betrothed? By all means, Aragorn did not know he was. There was anger in Glorfindel's face.

"I am sorry but, betrothed? I did not know, for I have not been told."

But the words Glorfindel had said hinted at _... a rare condition, with another ..._Legolas! He had had no idea. Legolas had never mentioned anything such as this. _'I knew there was something more behind his pregnancy than I was told'_. For a moment he thought that maybe Glorfindel was the father but then realized such a thing could not be possible – they had not married yet.

"Oh, I apologize then for disturbing you, milord." Glorfindel bowed his head. "Goodnight."

With that he left, gritting his teeth.

----

Legolas awoke to sunshine and the singing of birds. Suddenly, the white city was full of life and the gardens bloomed. He felt content. Tired, yes, but content. He lay dozing for a long time before he opened his eyes. The ceiling was white above him. Outside the window the sky was clear and blue, promising to be a good day.

He heard slow, deep breaths. No, snores rather. He thought he recognized them. Sitting up and turning his head he saw, not with too much surprise, Gimli in the corner of the room. He was sleeping, soon to wake with a headache. He had gotten drunk again ... and walked into the wrong room.

For once Legolas did not feel like blaming him. It had been the best of reasons to feast and drink and, after all, Gimli was a dwarf. Luckily he was not sleeping in the way of the door, which was half-open. Quietly Legolas rose and tip-toed over to it when he felt nature's call. He knew this corridor now and was careful to be silent as he made his way to the bathrooms.

After answering the call of nature, he stayed for a moment then walked into yet another room where the baths themselves where held. It was a temptation. He had not washed for days. Suddenly he felt dirty and was reminded by Glorfindel's accusation. It had hurt, those words. Glorfindel did not know a_nything _about him ... He had no right to say such things ...

_...you disgust me,little whore!_

The bath was made as a pool in the floor. As a prince, Legolas was used having things ready for him – the baths, his chambers always cleaned when he was away, but often was it so that he did such simple jobs himself, ignoring the servants complaints that he should not tire himself with a servant's work.

The construction of the bath was simple enough. Instead of having to fetch new water for each bath, the water was kept in large tubes built into the walls where it kept its heat. Opening a tap, warm water started streaming down into the bathtub. While the bath was being filled, Legolas searched the room and found soap and towels. There was even a shelf with different books in the corner. Minas Tirith was a well land and he knew men liked to make a good impression always, so the guest chambers and baths were no exception. Though there should be plants, living things, in here, as well in the whole city. Trees, flowers... _'You are getting dreamy,'_ he thought with a chuckle.

He stripped his leggings and sunk into the warm water with a sigh. If felt like forever since he had been like this - relaxed, with nothing to bother him. For a long time he leaned against the edge and just breathed. Then he dove under the water and swam by the bottom to the other side, making his long hair feel heavy.

Something interrupted the peace. Heavy footsteps followed by curses, the language too hard and the voice too thick to belong to a man. Ah, it must be Gimli. Two seconds later the dwarf appeared in the room next-door.

He looked positively ill. Through the door, which was a simple open border, Legolas saw him move away and probably empty his stomach contents, and wash his face in a basin of water. Gimli was muttering in a mix of Dwarfish and Westron. Legolas heard cursing and thought he mentioned several names, including Éomer's and elven names, which sounded twisted from the dwarf's tongue as he was unused to elvish of any kind.

Legolas tried to hide a laugh as Gimli made it over to the door. He decided to make himself known.

"Having another exploration of the effects of drinking, my friend?" He joked, causing the dwarf to stop and turn.

His vision felt slightly blurry, but he recognized the golden-haired pointy-eared being that was in front of him, leaning against the edge of some kind of pool. The elf's clothes lay in a pile by some towels on the floor.

"What're you doing here, elf?" He asked. The very sound of splashing water sounded loud and echoing in his ears so that it almost gave him a headache. "Aren't you supps'd to be 'sleep like sens'ble people?"

"Well, since you are not asleep, dear dwarf, you must not belong to those people." Legolas said with a chuckle, resting his chin in his hand, leaning against his elbow. "You look like you have had a fair drink enough."

Gimli glared at him. At least he could manage that. Yet the words from Legolas' mouth seemed to wobble in his brain and it took him a while to register them. "I'm not drunk! Elf!"

"_Dwarf_." Legolas laughed but hushed himself when Gimli started cursing at him over his headache. He lowered his voice to a gentle tone. "Sorry. I suppose you will return to _your_ chambers and sleep?" He asked, implying the word your, reminding the dwarf of how lost he had been yesterday night.

"Aye, elf. I suppose you'll stay here and continue bathin' or what'ver you do."

Gimli took his leave with a last dwarven word at him, maybe it was a curse, or some kind of good-bye. Legolas did not know. Some sleep would do the dwarf good. At least to his mood ...

Legolas turned in the water again, yawned and stretched his body like a graceful cat. His limbs felt tired, sore like when you have moved them so little they are stiff and unmovable. His hands sought his round belly. The babe within had been moving almost all night, also during the festivities. Now he or she was asleep again. Legolas wished that the babe rather was asleep in his arms.

He wondered what he should do now these last months. He had to make a decision regarding his relationship with Éomer soon. The man would leave in five weeks, after Aragorn's and Arwen's wedding, for his homeland, bringing Théoden's body with him to bury him with his ancestors. He would follow them when the hobbits took their good-byes to leave for their homeland. Aragorn and Gandalf had promised to escort them to their borders.

Should he follow them? Éomer? Stay in Rohan? Maybe stay here ... It might be safest here at least until the birth. After that ...

_'You are definitely thinking too much'_, he told himself and tried to shut his mind from such thoughts. He did not need more questions right now.

The water was starting to grow cold. Quickly he emerged from the water, pulling the plug which emptied the tub, and wrapped one of the towels around his body. For a moment, it felt almost like after one of the long days spent by the borders of his homeland, guarding or hunting. Taking command over only a few men always took its strain on him. But now he was not there. Now he was here in Minas Tirith. So far from home ...

He shook his head; his hair, dripping wet, moved like a curtain around him. He was thinking again! With a sigh he lifted his clothing from the floor, dropped the towel and started to dress again. There were no mirrors here, and he had brought no comb. His hair was tangled.

On bare feet he moved silently over the floor, ghosting across the room; his elven moves were ever so silent. The corridor outside seemed still asleep. Passing by the turn he glimpsed a yawning guard but no one else; he hurried to his chambers. Gimli was not there; he must have realized his mistake and gone to his own chambers. He dropped the towel on the bed and went in search of the comb which also the twins had brought him before the crowning yesterday. He found it hidden beneath the neatly folded pile of clothes on a chair in the corner of the room; only they were the clothes the twins had given him. He reminded himself to thank them later. These were all clothing from Imradis; he must give them back to their lord later ...

He had to face Lord Elrond. The lord must be furious now, or shocked at least. After all, he had a role in his supposed betrothal to Glorfindel ... Sighing he fought to push such thoughts aside, sat down in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall, folded his legs beneath him and drew the comb through his hair. It almost created a golden mat on the floor where he sat, so long as it was.

He sat there for a long while. Outside birds were singing, he heard them clearly thanks to his elven ears. It reminded him of Rivendell ...

There was a knock on the door. Mayhap it was Gimli, if not the dwarf had fallen asleep as soon as he saw a bed. It proved to be right. The door opened some, and Gimli peered inside.

"So there you are. I thought you had stayed in the baths like regular elves."

It surprised him some to see Legolas half-naked, sitting on the floor. He now understood the beauty of elves; even with his friend's rounder belly. Elven bodies were lean and thin but not in an unpleasant way, and he had to admit to himself that if a dwarf made a statue such as this, it would be forever his masterpiece. Though now Legolas' tummy made his arms look even thinner, even if there was muscle of a warrior beneath.

Legolas chuckled, not stilling his combing. "Regular elves? Are you implying that you peered at bathing elves in Rivendell as well, friend Gimli?"

Gimli gave him a glare but his face took away all seriousness. He came into the room barefoot, which Legolas had never seen before, and took his seat on the chair; he dumped the clothes on the bed.

"Oh no, that I would not dare; and I am not so stupid to do so either. After all, I would not like having Lord Elrond over me just because I stretched the hospitalities."

Legolas looked up and sent him an amused look. "I suppose that should be reassuring," He joked. His long fingers quickly, and with moves long known, braided his hair in the warrior braids he always wore. He heard Gimli cough behind him, hesitating some before he spoke;

"Not being a bother, but you should leave it just like it is."

Legolas raised an eyebrow, which Gimli spotted through the mirror, but he did not question his friend and unbraided his hair again. It fell from his grasp and spilled over his shoulders like melting gold in the sunshine. He stood and went over to the bed to find something to wear. His old clothes had been cleaned and lay among those from Imradis. Gimli started talking again, about the city and its construction, how he would go here with some hundred of his people to help rebuild it, suggesting Legolas should stay here for a time with them, and come with him visiting his home.

Legolas listened and picked a pair of plain dark leggings and a dark-blue tunic that ended at his elbows. Seeing his friend's look, Gimli got the hint and stood and turned toward the window to give his friend privacy while he dressed.

"Well, the stonework of these men is one of a kind," the dwarf admitted, "though a hand from a dwarf could never hurt. Besides, I promised Aragorn to lend him a hand. Maybe you should help him with the gardens, Legolas, as you seem so dedicated with them all the time. Aragorn would appreciate it. He is stuck with council meetings all the time now, and other such things, I believe. But with Arwen on his mind ..." He chuckled.

He had seen her shortly in Rivendell and also here in Gondor, and even if she was not matching what Gimli saw in Galadriel, that starlit wise beauty that yet understood him and his kind even though elven, Arwen Úndomiel was beautiful in her own way; with the eve and the stars.

Legolas' voice was heard. "Aragorn's mind must be wandering, you mean, my friend? Ai, so I must fear as well ..." He smiled and came to Gimli's side, now dressed. "I remember I did not finish the story I began to tell in the Hornbourg; perhaps your dwarven memory fails you," he teased, "but it included Aragorn and a horse."

Gimli's face lit up and he smirked. "Aye, this dwarf remembers. So tell me elf, I am curios now. Come let us have a seat and a good smoke ..." seeing Legolas' look, he quickly said; "All right, no smoking in here. Well, tell me." He continued as they had taken a seat, Legolas on the bed and he on the chair by its side. "You never really got started."

Legolas smiled and began his tale. It cheered them both up immensely; one day maybe all three of them – he, Gimli and the now King of Gondor - could sit and enjoy old stories, mayhap less embarrassing on Aragorn's part ...

---


	30. Chapter 30

_**Author's notes:** The earlier chapter was a little weird sometimes, I admit. So we go on with this... I try to give a longer chapter now as I will be busy for most of the week ..._

_All Glorfindel fans are angry at me. Sorry! I had him mad here. He's not evil. Just a little mad. He'll turn better, kids. Promise._

_I also have a small apologize, for those who have noticed; I have quite many a time called Gandalf (and other wizards) for 'Maia'. The right term should be 'Istari' – the Maia are not wizards, they are sort of 'angels/half-angels', some of them evil, some not (right me here if I'm wrong!). I have read that the Balrog in Moria was a Maia (one of the evil kind, that is). Gandalf and Saruman are Istari. (And the gods are the Valar.) All those other half-gods/angels are Maia ... Sauron was a Maia once._

_**Elvish:**_

_Fëa – Spirit (when an elf dies, their spirit/soul lives on, in the Halls of Mandos, the Lands of the Dead)_

_**Reviewers:**_

Ninfea di Luna: thanks for the review! Glad you like, again. Updated chapters will be slightly longer now, I believe...I have finally ideas of what's going to happen! I have tried to read your profile, by the way, but unfortunately I cannot read French at that level (rather, sometimes – I cannot read it at all, my brain tricks me it's Swedish, my native tongue, and I get allover confused, because it is nothing like Swedish lol). Anyway, thank you so much for translating! And send me the link to that fic! (another off topic note; where I live, gay marriage is legalized (it's a new phenomena, so some people still are afraid of it or does not accept it...). The word 'marriage' is kind of neutral now, or we try to make it so, so basically here can a couple of man/woman, woman/woman, and man/man marry with the same rights. Which I think is good!)

mikinyet: Yeah, Thranduil's better than we thought at first. Yay! We likes him! Hm, but Glorfindel is not ... But I like him too, except he's gotta check his temper sometimes. Thanks for the review.

Elinka: More and more chapters comin'... It's wont be so many more though, we're nearing the climax of this. It feels like I've kept on this forever, lol, without getting to any point! But thanks for the review again. And send me the link to that story when it's up! :D

----

**Chapter 30**

**----**

Éomer had left during the morning, he would partake in one of the meetings with Aragorn. Legolas felt the time go slow. He and the rest of the fellowship now lived for a time in a palace in Minas Tirith, with servants within hearing range, free to come and go as they wished. Gimli was in the lower levels with some craftsmen of this city, waiting for the arrival of some of his people. He had sent a message the day after Aragorn's coronation with one of the swiftest messengers. They would arrive any day now. The hobbits were probably in the kitchens, or strolling in the gardens. Legolas was worried about Frodo; he had seen the halfling often walk alone and with his shoulders slumped, looking as if in deep, heavy thoughts. The halfling carried pain in both heart as well as in body. Legolas had not yet spoken to him or Sam directly, though he had heard some tales and glimpsed the hobbit's hand once when they were eating dinner with only the Fellowship alone. Frodo's hand held only four fingers.

He should talk with the halflings, he decided. He felt pain as well, like Frodo, but for other reasons. Yet he was often brooding over what decisions he would make and he still had to face Glorfindel. The elven lord was placed elsewhere with the rest of the elves from Imradis, which calmed Legolas some. They met not often. They were avoiding each other.

But what troubled him mostly was the Sea. He heard her call through the nights and he imagined hearing waving water against rock with his heartbeat. Long into the night he lay awake. And even though his people would sail, a part of his would be lost, his heart wished to sail ... He could not! He could not leave now! He begged Her just stop, stop her song and plague someone else, and he remembered Galadriel's words clearer than ever. He had to stay ashore, he had Éomer, friends here, loves here, his child ...

He tried to occupy himself to get rid of Her voice inside his mind. He wandered in the garden, spent time with Gimli and Éomer, but now both were gone and the song of trees and flowers were over-voiced by water. The restlessness crept into his very blood and he could not sleep at nights. His child felt it too, she or he turned within his body. Sometimes that made his heart race. At other times it reminded him that he could not sail, not yet, he had something here to hold onto.

Today the sun was blocked from view by clouds which threatened to burst into heavy rainfall at any moment. It looked as if it would rain for days when it did happen. Legolas strolled through the garden and tried to relax himself, listened to the songs of living things, but the air was chilled today and he made his way inside the palace. The white corridors, this emptiness of these halls, were a contrast to the turmoil in his heart. When a hand was laid on his shoulder, he flinched and turned on his heels.

"Aragorn!" He exclaimed, surprised to see the man there; he thought he was in a meeting with Éomer and Mithrandir. "What are you doing here, friend? Are you not supposed to be with your elders?"

The King smiled. "Well, since I am the host here I realized I should spend some more time with my guests." He said. "Will you walk with me?"

Together they walked through the halls. Aragorn led his friend to the far end of the corridor which led to a turn and beyond that a door Legolas had not noticed before. It proved to be the way into a chamber smaller than the ones they slept within, but the floor was covered in rugs and the walls with thick curtains. Stepping inside Legolas felt his feet sink down into the rug over an inch, the fabric soft to his skin. Facing a now unlit fireplace were several dark couches. The far wall was filled with bookshelves. The tables held candles, unlit as well. This was a room for resting and speaking into late hours when the rest of the house slept. Aragorn, today clad in Gondor's colours but simply, without any cloak and only a smaller crown upon his head, sat down on the nearest couch. Legolas took seat beside him. They spoke of the feast and of things friends talk about for a while. It was a time since they had been able to hold a conversation between each other alone.

Legolas could not help the feeling that Aragorn had come to speak for a reason. As a new king he had much to deal with – not much time, during the day at least, to spend with friends. When a silence fell between them Legolas voiced his thoughts.

"I guess you came not just to speak nonsense with me. There are more important things you have to do."

Aragorn looked away for a moment before he spoke. "You are reading me as easily as ever," he said with a small smile. Then he looked up. "I wonder about you."

Legolas nodded. "It is the child, is it not? You wish to know what I can tell you about it."

"Yes. You do not have to tell me, Legolas, but I wish to know. I ... worry about you."

His elven friend always seemed uncomfortable speaking about the child. Both of them knew that. Both also were not deaf to the rumours that had began to spread among the people of Minas Tirith ... and its guests.

Legolas sighed and shifted. "I know." The silence fell again. Legolas wondered what he should tell, and how. He read easily in Aragorn's eyes. _He thinks ..._

"I was not forced into this." He said at last. Relief was obvious in the man's face. "He ... he who fathered this child loves my child and he loves me." _Because he does ... even if his body is dead, his Fëa loves me ..._

"Then I am relieved and happy." Aragorn said quietly.

But he could not help but wonder who the father was; where he was ... He did not voice his questions. Silence lapsed between the pair, part sleepy part uncomfortable. In the end, Legolas stood and excused himself. At least he had smothered some worries in Aragorn's heart. It was for the best, the man had too much to worry about now as King of Gondor. He had heard Aragorn would leave with Gandalf for a short journey but he knew not where or for how long.

It had started to rain outside, a sheet of water falling slowly down on the city. Legolas decided to walk through the small garden again. The raindrops soon made his hair damp and ran down his bare skin, his face, his hands and long slender arms. In the centre of the garden he stopped and lifted his face to the skies above, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Arms outstretched he turned his palms upwards. Like an ever-going drum the rain splashed onto the ground, the buildings, the flowers that just had began to bloom. It was peaceful. He liked rain. The smell of summer drifted around him. He could stay like this forever.

It was the most beautiful sight Éomer had ever seen.

To come out from a warm building stuffed with people; this was the best change he could guess. Legolas did not react to his presence, simply stood there facing the rain. Water dripped from his hair and down over his fingertips as the weather gathered more strength. As silently as he could, he walked up behind the elf. He did not react, at least not visibly. He saw not the elf's secret smile – Legolas heard footsteps, smelt that familiar smell of horses and wilderness and long stretching plains, this freedom. He was startled though when his already closed eyes were covered by the man's hands.

"Who do you think it is?" Came a low murmur in his ear.

Legolas' smile grew wider. He grabbed Éomer's wrists trying to lower them, and the man obeyed. Éomer pressed closer to the elf and laid his arms around him.

"Someone I have been waiting for." Legolas responded quietly, taking the man's hands and lowering them to his abdomen. The babe was asleep and did not answer to the slight pressure.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" The man murmured, moving and pressing a kiss on his neck.

Legolas laughed softly. "It could never hurt to hear you say it again."

As an answer, Éomer turned him around in his arms. Looking the elf in the eyes, he leaned closer and whispered.

"You _are_beautiful."

Cupping Legolas' chin in one hand, he kissed him fully. In precious moments like this, they forgot who they were and where they were. It suddenly did not matter. Neither one were caring of how wet they were becoming as the rain continued to pour down over the city. Legolas forgot how cold it was outside, that his skin was covered his goose bumps. The kiss warmed him from inside out. When they separated, Legolas felt like he had just fallen in love. It felt right. They could stay like this forever.

"We should go inside." He said at last, his eyes smiling. It was beginning to grow cold again. He grabbed Éomer's hand.

Éomer laughed, and laid an arm around his lover. Lover. It felt like they were lovers, at least. He felt like he was in love. "We are all wet!"

Legolas laughed to, as he danced. He pulled him through the gardens and hurrying to protection under the shielding roofs. The rain fell hard now, the sky had darkened. By the sounds of a bell in the palace they were told that it was the hour for dinner. Aragorn made ready a smaller hall for the Fellowship alone to dine within, himself included, but since he had found that the halflings liked to eat earlier than men usually did and came often to ask for food – at least the younger ones did – he had made sure there were two dinners available. Two bells rang to signal which one it was time for. Lately, Legolas had found himself eating either very much or almost nothing at all, depending on his mood and his body. Today, he felt hungry. Maybe it was the rain. Together, he and Éomer walked down the halls of the palace, laughing and talking, hands clasped. When they reached the end of the corridor, blocked by a door leading to the Great hall, Éomer stopped. He had to do other things, and he was not invited to this dinner. He kissed Legolas' hand and they took their good-byes smiling. They would see each other within some hours.

Still, Legolas wished he still was standing in the rain with him.

The halflings were eagerly waiting. Sam was there as was Pippin and Merry, but not Frodo. Their chattering filled the small hall. Merry and Pippin saluted when Legolas came in. They had not blind eyes for Legolas' shining eyes, the smile that just had been on his lips. Sam, not yet knowing Legolas in person, greeted him more discreetly. Frodo had not yet arrived when Legolas joined the table. Talk arose soon again, and Legolas let Merry and Pippin talk and soon joined conversation with Sam. It was trudging at first, Sam was still a bit overwhelmed by the elf's pregnancy, but Legolas smiled and laughed and joked. He realized that this gardener was brave, but shy.

Legolas ate slowly but when he had emptied his plate, he heard Merry mutter something to Pippin. Again they complained he was far too thin than what was healthy and laid some more steak and potatoes on his plate.

Sam's demeanour was changing as time passed. He glanced at the door more and more, and between mouthfuls of food and talking with Legolas about other things, he wondered aloud where Mister Frodo was.

Legolas smiled softly to calm him. "Do not worry, Master Gamgee." He said. "I am sure Frodo is simply in need of rest." They could visit him later. He was sure Sam would, and bring some food with him as well.

"Can't help but worry, you know." Sam said. "He's been a little pale for a time; I'm worried it has something to do with the ... the Thing and all that." He picked an apple from a bowl. "I think I will go to him right now. Hope he's fine and asleep, but one never knows ... Maybe I'm just imagining things, and he is just with Gandalf and King Strider ... Aragorn." He gathered two more apples and off he went. Legolas encouraged him, for Sam had his right to worry and he knew Frodo needed support.

Pippin and Merry were bickering over the last of the food. Legolas had not been able to swallow more after one plate, but they were focusing not on him but on the food left and on the bowls in the centre of the table. It settled with Merry having the steak and potatoes, Pippin the mushrooms – to his great delight – and apples.

"What have you been up to today, my friends?" Legolas asked.

Pippin took a bite of his apple and swallowed rapidly to have time to speak. "Aragorn gave us ponies today. Me, Sam and Frodo. We've never got any earlier than those we lost in Bree ... Anyway, that's very nice of him. There are some forests in Ithilien not far north, a day's ride from here; maybe we could go there some other day. He says we may ride there if we wish, there is a small lake which we could enjoy fishing in and simply enjoy life in general."

"With food." Merry put in.

"And smoke!" Pippin sang.

"And ale from the Green Dragon!"

They finished together, raising their cups and cheering, causing Legolas to laugh. The little ones had not lost their energy. Nor had the little one inside of him ... The babe was waking from sleep now, stretching small legs. He did not flinch, but was caught off guard every time that the babe moved. He was distracted for a moment and did not hear what the hobbits were saying, but the two had shifted topic from today to days before.

"... remember the spectacle? It was great! Especially that last one."

"The red one?"

"Aye! We should do it again."

"But Gandalf would kill us this time! Don't you remember his reaction at all?"

Merry snatched the apple from Pippin's grip. "Of course! He laughed."

"Not that time." Pippin argued. "With the dishes."

"Oh. That time. I admit it was not the best of reactions."

"See? Who is acting oldest here?"

Merry thwacked him.

Legolas chuckled at their childish behaviour but felt intrigued. "What are you bickering about now then, friends?" They never had enough.

"Gandalf's firework." Pippin said. "They are good to look at, but when he catches you stealing them or worse, lighting them, things can get dangerous."

Merry nodded. "_Very_dangerous."

_--_

When night was creeping into the city, it still rained. Legolas had eaten only slightly at the second dinner, finding himself stuffed. Now when evening was here, he was on his way to his chambers. He had not met Éomer since the garden. The halls were silent now, but not the streets. They were full of activity. During second dinner, where he had seen Merry and Pippin but not Sam or Frodo, he had spent most time talking with Aragorn and Gandalf and Gimli. The last one included most joking and bickering and, of course, glares.

He had not seen any elves since the party. His heart longed to see them, to speak to them, his own people. His eyes darted when he felt a presence nearing. He felt it easily now that it was one of his own kind, even though his or her approaching steps were totally silent. He stopped in the corridor and waited. When he saw the figure approaching, he wished he had not.

It was Glorfindel. The elven lord raised an eyebrow when he saw the elven prince standing there, and he hurried his steps when Legolas turned to continue down the hall.

He did not wish to face Glorfindel now. Not at all. He felt too angry at him for that. But a hand gripped his wrist in a tight grip and stopped him. "Are you running away from me, Legolas?" Glorfindel snapped him around, his grip painful. "_Why_ are you running from me, Legolas?!"

"Let go of me." Legolas said in a low tone. He tried to move from the lord's grip, but he did not let go. "Release me!"

"I want the truth! I need the truth! Tell me the truth, Legolas! If what I told you at the feast is true, if you really are a _disgusting little whore_... I would be ashamed. Ashamed even that I am supposed to marry you."

The truth? Glorfindel did not deserve it. Legolas cursed at himself. Why did he think such things? His arm hurt. The elven lord was nothing like he had thought him to be. He had thought him wiser, understanding ... If he told the truth he would not understand! He would be only angrier.

"The truth does not matter! Just let me go."

"Let you go? Run away again? Let this all drop?" Glorfindel's voice was heated. "I have had enough of this! Tell me the truth, for it is what I deserve. How could the truth not matter for you ... The child inside of you? Could it matter? Tell me!" He was exploding, trembling now.

Legolas tried to fight his grip. He felt weak and felt the words pierce him harder and deeper than any steel every could. It ripped up old wounds that he had tried for so long to heal. Tears burned behind his eyes and he could not manage to keep his voice steady.

"It does not matter and you do not deserve anything! Let go of me! I do not belong to you!" He cried and ripped himself from the elf's grip, his arm slipping and hitting Glorfindel's face hard.

He did not regret it until later. It hurt the other elf, made him pause and lapse into silence. Legolas' breath was ragged. He was angry, sad, mad at him, because of the pain the lord tried to give him – the other elf was mad; this could possibly not be the legendary Balrog-Slayer's true self. Slowly, he started to back away. He could not risk a real fight, even though this could be the start of one. _The baby ..._

"So it does not matter, I see." Glorfindel murmured and then raised his eyes looking at the Mirkwood prince. His voice softened some, though there was madness and need in his eyes still. "Just tell me the truth, spit it out. How come you are with child? Who is the father, where is he? And you and that man, Éomer, what of you?"

Legolas trembled, he felt like he could explode. The truth. Was that the only thing he wanted? Truth? He had lied most of his way here, it felt not like much truth to tell.

"He is dead." He whispered hoarsely. The words slipped off his tongue, he could not stop them. This was what Glorfindel wanted to know after all. He was barely aware of that blood was sipping from the older elf's mouth, from a broken tooth, a split lip. "He is dead. That is why it does not matter anymore."

In his head, he thought the opposite. It mattered fully. It mattered to everything.

He took a deep, ragged breath then he turned sharply and hurried down the hall. His insides were raging like the growing storm outside. Glorfindel watched with curious eyes, but he stood still, almost like in shock, staring after his retreating back.

_--_

Legolas was shaken. He was trembling. Had he just said that? Had he just said that small truth to Glorfindel, of all people? That Egil was ... was ...

Glorfindel did not know that his name was Egil, where he came from ... He did not know anything – apart from that he was dead. At least Egil was protected and safe by that. At least Glorfindel could not harm_him_because of this.

Why did he always find so much pain and trouble? He should have pushed Egil away in the first place._But I was the one that approached him._ He should not have followed on the damned quest, he should just have married and had it done and over with. _But then you would not have carried a child you love. Would you?_

With an angry sob he curled himself into a ball, lying on the bed. He wanted to cry and kill at the same time. He was angry and afraid at the same time. What should he do? He had not faced Elrond yet and he had not seen the twins since the arrival of the elves of Imradis. That was days ago. He missed them. He missed Éomer as well. And Gimli ... Aragorn ... He realized there were so few people who knew him, who knew the truth ... The halflings did not know, and Sam and Frodo knew the slightest. Éomer was the only one who knew the name of the father; his lover. They had been lovers. Had Egil's position been different, the times different, they maybe would have dared to make a public relationship – to marry officially. If not for the damned war which yet traced through the thoughts of many, everything would have been so different ...

He flinched when there was a knock on the door.

"Legolas?" He knew that voice. "Are you in there?"

No. I am not here. Just go away.

"Elf. You are there. I smell that terrible smell of yours miles away."

The door opened and Gimli came inside, and he did not halt his steps seeing Legolas on the bed, curled up with his back facing the door. The dwarf muttered something in dwarfish and closed the door. If the elf had another breakdown, like in Helm's Deep so long ago, it was safest to be here. Just in case. He hoped Legolas had no knifes within reach.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. The elf was silent, and Gimli did not touch him. It would make him angry. For a while they were only silent, and Gimli had no idea that Legolas was in fact crying until a broken sob reached his ears and Legolas breathed in gasps.

Gimli sighed. Something had changed the elf during the last few days. Sometimes he was happy and carefree like a child that just had started to see the world, the next he was sad and melancholy and avoided all contact. It had started with Aragorn's coronation. Or before that, when they could spot the approaching company of elves on horizon. _'He's unsettled by his own people'_, Gimli thought. _'It cannot be good.'_

Carefully he laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder and squeezed. The elf shivered. Was he cold?_'I should be mad at him, telling him that he's near killing me, and himself, by giving me all this worry',_he thought and pulled a blanket from the bed's edge over his friend's form. _'And I'm just so worried that I cannot be mad.'_

"There lad. Shhh." He was unsure of what to say and what to do. "Calm down. Everything will be fine." He sat there. The elf refused to turn and look at him. The sobs faded in strength but he had a feeling that Legolas was still crying. _'He cannot have mood swings like this, right?'_

"Maybe you need some time alone? I'm not good at this, you know. Better is it when you are in the mood to kill me, at least when your bow is out of the way."

A pale hand reached out and to his surprise grasped his. "No. Stay."

"Oh. All right, pointy-ear ... But I have warned you." He knew not what to do again. The elf's grip was surprisingly strong.

Silence fell in the room again. Water splashed against the windows of the room, a drumming which never stopped in the background.

"Better now, lad?"

Legolas nodded weakly but did not turn around. He was still full of anger.

"Maybe I should fetch Aragorn, he's better than this old dwarf on emotional things. Right?"

Legolas chuckled sadly. Gimli was not old and he had no idea that he was just as good as Aragorn being a support ... "No." He murmured. "I do not need Estel or his herbs ..."

Gimli laughed, a rumbling sound from deep in his chest. He realized who Estel was, that must be some stupid elven name for Aragorn – as if he had not enough of names already.

"All right, elf. Do you need something? Tea? Blankets? Or the mere presence of an old dwarf and his axes?"

Legolas smiled weakly and turned to face him. His eyes were slightly dry and red. "Old dwarves are fine company." He murmured. "I need no tea."

"Good. Because I do not know how to make a good tea." Gimli stood and instead took seat on the chair in the room. "You look tired." He commented. "You must definitely sleep more."

Legolas knew those words held truth. He felt tired. Suddenly so exhausted. Having Glorfindel here, and having just met him again, put a heavy strain on him. He just wanted Glorfindel gone from here. He had to speak with Lord Elrond later. The elven lord must be disappointed as well. After all, his marriage with Glorfindel was set to strengthen the bond between Imradis and Mirkwood. And now he had failed this bond ... Of course Lord Elrond would be disappointed. And angry.

He yawned and tried to push these thoughts away. He could try to sleep some. Maybe Éomer would be back later. He looked up to see Gimli walk over the room and close the curtains. It was storming outside. Legolas pushed away the blankets and stood to undress, but paused when Gimli turned. The dwarf might be uncomfortable. He had a feeling Gimli would not leave until he had fallen asleep.

Legolas fingered at the lacing of his tunic. "Do you mind if I ... ?"

Gimli got the hint and turned to give him privacy. He opened the curtains slightly again. There really was a storm outside, growing fast in strength. Damn it ... As much as he loved being underground better than in the sun, this was not the right time to rain. The company of his people should arrive soon. He had began planning building a settlement in Aglarond, near Ithilien where the Steward of Gondor and Lady Éowyn would settle with some of their people. It would be better if the sun managed to break through and shine just another day at least. But it was raining hard and the winds ripped at the strong stone buildings of the city. He heard rustling behind him.

Legolas, stripped from his clothing, laid them on a pallet by the side of the bed and slipped under the covers. He felt like he would fall asleep at once.

Far away were the echoes of thunder. Gimli saw a flash of light quite far away, on the horizon. Ai, it was only getting worse. With a sigh he pulled in the curtains so that they covered the windows and walked over to the chair again. On the bed, Legolas had almost fallen asleep. He looked really sleepy. Within moments he was fast asleep, which pleased Gimli some. The elf was developing bad habits. He must be eating too little as well. Those pale arms were too thin, and they looked thinner by the sides of his swollen stomach._'Maybe we should send him to the Shire for a while,'_ Gimli thought. He was fingering at his pipe hanging by his belt. He had not smoked for hours, and in here it would not do, and outside it was raining. Maybe he could go and find the hobbits for a good pipe and some talk. _'At least they got some common sense, despite how these elves are lacking it.'_

---

Éomer had spoken with Aragorn of his plans of leaving soon but now questions had arisen within him. If he was to leave, what of Legolas? He wanted to be with the elf, but he was sure that Legolas did not wish to stay in Rohan. He needed his homeland ... his people. And his own people, the Rohirrim, they needed their King. Éowyn would stay in Ithilien with Faramir, where they would build a settlement together. They had made their relationship official during Aragorn's coronation.

But he and Legolas had not mentioned theirs, not yet, even thought the halflings might have their suspicions. And as the days passed, the day of his departure came closer. Would Legolas wish to come with him? Did he wish to make their relationship public? _'In that case, my people would demand us to marry,'_he thought, _'and I am sure that according to elven laws, whatever they are, his should as well ...'_

But he did not wish to hurry anything. Legolas might not be ready for marriage. He was not so sure either if he was ready for marriage. To bind himself fully to someone else... And there was the child, which Legolas and he would raise. With his heart he wished to be a part of the child's life. Be a father. Yes, he wished to become a father. Even though raising an elven child, a child not of his blood, would be strange, different from if the child was of mankind. It was not often he and Legolas spoke of the elf's pregnancy, but maybe he should speak with him about it sometime; Legolas was too quiet. He spoke too little of what held a place in his heart ...

--

**Author's notes**: That might not have been a real finish of a chapter ... But thanks for reading anyway. Soon there'll be more ... I'm sorry that there's not as much action as before now, but the war's over, and it'd be a little messy to start a new one, yeah? *evilly glinting eyes*


	31. Chapter 31

_**Author's notes: **Phew! Over 30 chapters now! I really need to come to a point here ._

_On another note, if you wonder why the hobbits speaks differently than the others (with 'I'm' instead of 'I am', 'we'll' instead of 'we will', et cetera) that's because I think that hobbits generally has a more modern way of speech, more like we talk today (except they don't know what a car is)._

_Um, if you wonder why the elves speak particiallry much elvish in this chapter, it's because they are elvish. And one of them (you might figure out who) does understand but doesn't speak Westron/English at all._

_**An off-topic note**: I've translated and published the beginning of this story in Sindarin! Please tell me what you think, and if you know, tell me the missing words (there were four in the end which I never found any translation to, help!). Grammar isn't always correct as it was my first try, but ... Enjoy, I might give you more of those._

_**Elvish – which is used quite a lot in this chapter: (S – Sindarin; Q – Quenya; G - Grelvish)**_

Suilad **S **– greetings

_Man tegile sí?** S** - What brings you here?_

_Gwadenneth **S** – Little brother (from 'gwador', brother, and 'pennneth', little one)_

_Onóre **Q –** sister_

_Onórwina** Q** – Elder sister (from 'onóre', sister, and 'enwina', old)_

_Salch **S** - grass (a name in this content)_

_Le as telin, Aran nîn **S** - Come with me, my King_

_Ma nathach hi gwannathach or minuial archened? **S** - Did you think you could slip away at first light - unnoticed? (A/N: This is actually a copied phrase from the Peter Jackson movies The Two Towers Extended Edition, not of my own make)_

_Goheno nîn, adar. Nan Im nostache tule o Eryn Lasgalen_ _**S, G**_- _Forgive me, father. But I could not come [back] to Mirkwood. (A/N: here's a mix of Sindarin and Grelvish, I'm sorry for that. I don't know sometimes how to create phrases correctly to stay to only Sindarin...)_

_Le naeg iaur emel nîn, penn las **S **- You pain (worry) [the] old heart of mine, little leaf.  
Man bragas le lénea?** S, Q** - What has happened [to] you [since you] left? (A/N: here a little Quenya [lénea] sneaked inside the conservation, and the phrase was shortened as well. Think this as more daily speech than 'fine, right elvish'. Also some says that in Mirkwood Quenya was not known/used/learned, but here in this fic, Thranduil and his household can speak it as it is important in politics among higher elves, I think.)_

_Ho namellon úyecotumo, adar **S, Q** - He is [a] friend, not [an] enemy, father. (A/N: Some more Quenya mixed here, thanks to Legolas as well as Thranduil being fluent in two languages ... I also found only the word 'not' in a Quenya form and so I took also the substantive 'enemy' in Quenya ('úye-' means 'not', 'cotumo' means 'enemy'; the Sindarin word for enemy is 'coth')_

Mín turpadette, adar, ah sinome na gwenod medui - We can walk outside, father, and find [a] place to speak. (A/N: Here I had to translate 'speak' with 'tell'; 'gwenod')

_Lasseth **S** – Little Leaf_

_Ninia_ c_erial. Non sí, lîn adar sí. __**S **__- Do not cry. I am here, your father is here._

_Hi man? __**S**__ – Better now? (lit. 'now good?')_

_Hir Glorfindel e Hir Elrond, cerie huin iste hi? __**S**__ -_ _Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond, do they know [of] this? (lit. 'do they have knowledge [of] this?) _

_Nathon tirith, Aran nîn __**S **__- I will be watching [him], my King_

_Ho úno meren nin. Ho úno__** ... S - **__He [will] not be happy [with] me. He [will] not be ..._

_Huin no limb tó? **S** - Are they often like that? (lit. 'They are much [like] that?')_

_**Reviews:**_

_Elinka:__ Definately more elves here! Thranduil is closing in ... (not good) ..._

_mikinyet: Yeah, Glorfindel has managed to become a *really bad elf*. More Éomer and Legolas here. Thansk for the review, by the way._

_Ninfea di Luna: Thanks! Sorry for the late update.  
_

**----**

**Chapter 31**

_----_

Slowly he returned to awareness. The world around him was slow and he felt tired into his bones. He wanted just to go back to sleep ... Cautiously he opened blue eyes; the room was quite dark. The first thing he heard was singing birds from outside. The second was footsteps. They were yet far away. For long moments he lay there under the covers, wondering if he should just sleep again, simply let the world and all its worries fade away. There was so much eh had yet to do, so many troubles ... He sighed and yawned, stretching like a graceful cat. Sleep. He wanted sleep.

The door opened, footsteps stopping. Legolas turned his head to see a very familiar man there. "Éomer," he murmured sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

Éomer smiled. "Can I not visit someone dear anymore? Is that so you have put invincible guards around this room now?" he asked playfully.

"Of course not," Legolas murmured. "I would not dare with Gimli around."

Éomer walked inside and offered him the clothes from the pallet. "Will you let me dress you?" he asked.

Legolas paused for a moment before he nodded. He felt lazy today, and wished to be with Éomer and have his help, but, they had never seen each other bare before. Legolas had actually never seen a Man bare before, except for Aragorn once long ago when the man had fallen into a river because of the twins. But Aragorn was his friend, not his lover ... He doubted Éomer had ever seen an elf unclothed before.

Pretending he was helping a child and not in fact an adult, Éomer pulled the covers down to Legolas' waist and helped him sit and swing his legs over the bed's edge. The elf's skin was milky white and unblemished like a newborn's. He pulled the tunic over the elf's head and laced it. He paused only to marvel Legolas' swollen belly, outlined by the dark fabric. He laid a hand on the swell, once again he wondered so much about him. The elf was amazing, amazing because this was possible.

"You have grown," he murmured.

Legolas chuckled. "Noticed already?" he wondered, laughing softly when Éomer's surprised eyes flashed at him when he was answered by a soft kick. "Aye, he is growing in there ..."

Smiling, Éomer kissed the swell tenderly before he stood and reached for the elf's leggings. The elf felt so real at these moments, it felt so close, so right. At other times, Legolas seemed like a dream ...

Éomer dressed him fully but they did not leave the room and instead sat down next to each other. The man had things on his mind he wished to share, Legolas understood that when he was asked to sit.

"I have been thinking, of what we should do ... But I do not know what you wish to do ... I suppose that once I leave for Rohan, you would like to go to your homelands; you need your own people."

Legolas paused before he spoke. Leave for Mirkwood and what? Stop this? Did Éomer not wish to have him with him?

"No, I do not know if I ... can ... go to Mirkwood yet. Not yet. Why can I not follow you to Rohan? Is there a problem?"

"If we go to Rohan, keeping this relationship secret would be harder. As secret as we have it now ..." Éomer said. "My people would demand us to marry, to bond officially. But, they might not accept as well as others that ..."

"That I am male?" Legolas asked plainly.

Éomer looked away for a moment, ashamed to admit that.

"Aye," he murmured. "And you an elf ... So few elves are seen, never living among us. It will be different from your homeland I am sure. The nature itself in Rohan differs very much from what you are used to. They would maybe not understand, they would think you strange. An elf, male ... pregnant ..."

Legolas took his hand and started stoking it absentmindedly.

"I do not care what they think, Éomer. If I cared more of what others thought I would not be here at all. I want to be with you. I do not wish to go to Mirkwood yet nor stay here in Minas Tirith, not when everyone will say goodbye after Aragorn and Lady Arwen's wedding ... I want to be with you."

Éomer thought about this. He understood Legolas and still he was somewhat a mystery. It had been made clear for him that it was Glorfindel and partly Lord Elrond that unsettled Legolas, made him draw away from his own kind – _which cannot be good_– but his homeland? Mirkwood must be different. He had a father there – a father should ...

A father would be angry. Had his child, had he any, run away for months and then come back pregnant ... Of course he would be angry. And relived, and worried. And happy to have his child back.

"Will you tell him?" he asked suddenly. "Your father?"

Legolas bit his lip. "I do not know. I ... Not yet. Not now. After the birth. He will be so angry at me ... right now I do not know if I can handle it ..."

Éomer laid his hand atop their clasped ones.

"You should tell him ... I am not pushing you into it, Legolas, but I want ... I do not want you to be enemies, but at least in knowledge of each other. He could think you injured ... dead."

Legolas lowered his eyes feeling a spear of guilt stab him. Éomer was right. By all means, his father could be mourning his loss, the whole of Mirkwood could be. Of course, that was if no word from Gondor or Imradis or maybe Lothlórien had reached him yet. In that case, he was in trouble.

But he did not wish to be mourned ... spoken of as passed away. His father would break, losing his whole family; he could not allow such a thing to happen.

"I will contact him soon," he murmured at last. "He needs to know I am well and alive ... that one day I might be home again."

--

They only had an hour or so together, then Éomer had to leave for discussions with the city's elders.

There was time needed when they made negotiations, or discussed politics. Legolas was glad he was no King and had to heartily care of such things. It was nothing of interests for him. Éomer had said to him that Gandalf and Aragorn would leave for a few days. They did not tell where or why, but the trip was short and safe and they would not be gone for long.

Legolas visited the hobbits, who had two larger shared quarters. At the moment he came to them, Merry and Pippin were sitting in a corner of the main chamber, discussing something of mischief he suspected. Frodo and Sam were nearby, the latter smoking, sometimes diving into the younger one's talking. They seemed to disagree with whatever they were up to.

Legolas smiled when he greeted them. Sam and Frodo looked up but not the two others, who were in a heated discussion. Of what Legolas did not know.

"... But that wasn't my fault!" Merry whined.

"Of course not, it wasn't," Pippin retorted.

"Oh really, says you. It was you who started it!"

"I didn't start anything! It was your plan!"

"And what about that bucket then? Was that one mine too!?"

Legolas raised an amuse eyebrow. Sam welcomed him to sit next him and Frodo on a bench. "What are they bickering of?" Legolas wondered.

Frodo smiled. There was still this look of sadness and loss in his eyes, which they had had all since had returned, but they held also happiness and light, a clarity which they had not had in months."I believe they are about to make a competition with the sons of Elrond," he explained vaguely.

Legolas could only imagine. The twins were the worst elven troublemakers he had ever know. Perhaps Pippin and Merry held the same status in the Shire. A competition ... He had a feeling it would end up bad and with some poor innocent to suffer their pranks.

"This ain't not good, if someone's listening to me, Mister Frodo," Sam said and shook his head grimly. "But trying to stop those two is impossible and they hang on like an irritating itch, out of reach. They won't listen to a word we tell them."

Legolas laughed softly. "That I can imagine," he murmured. "The twins were all the same."

"The twin sons of Elrond?" Frodo asked curiously.

"Aye," Legolas said and nodded. "Even thought they are older than me they are yet often acting as elflings. Always up to mischief. They learned me, when I came to Rivendell as a child, that pranks were the best ways of revenge ... Had my father heard them tell me that, he would forbid them near his realm ever again."

"So they are quite ... different from other elves, then?" Sam asked.

Legolas smiled softly. "I do not know if I would call them different ... They are just more urgent at showing how childish they as all elves are."

----

This day was gray, thought the sun fought the heavy clouds. At least tried to. Legolas tried to fight his anger and doubt; he realized his hands were trembling of nervousness. With one of the servants he had sent a message to Lord Elrond, that he wished - and needed - to speak with him. It was necessary. That morning he had had courage to do it but now, standing in the corner of the garden, spotting Lord Elrond talking with Lindir, the courage failed him. He was afraid, he admitted, that the usually calm Lord would react just like Glorfindel at seeing him.

Elrond saw him and acknowledged him with a soft smile to come closer. Lindir raised his eyes as well; seeing the elven prince he took good-bye of his lord and left. Legolas' statue demanded privacy, the way he cautiously walked closer.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas greeted quietly.

"Good morning, Legolas," Elrond said with a small smile. "Come, let us walk together. I would like to say it is a fine day, but the clouds nor the sun does not seem to agree with me ..."

Legolas did not answer at first, they fell into step, following the path through the garden. He wished he was not here. He wished he was asleep, like he had wished that morning when he awoke that he would fall asleep again. Silence fell between them, a tense silence; Elrond waited for the prince to speak. He knew of what he would speak.

Then Legolas paused in his step and turned towards him, and took a deep breath before he began to speak. "I came to apologize, my lord, that I cannot marry Lord Glorfindel ... that there cannot be created a bond thusly between Mirkwood and Imradis. I am sorry for the confusion and disorder that I have caused. My acts were wrong and I am ready to face punishment."

He intended to continue, but the Lord smiled and interrupted him. "You need not to forgive, my prince," Elrond said. "No harm has been done; how the reaction of Lord Glorfindel came to be is his own personal matter. You have done nothing wrong, my prince." He paused and began to walk again. Not to offend him, Legolas followed, while the Lord continued to speak – his words and his voice were not formal anymore. "Now I am not so sure anymore that a bond between you and Lord Glorfindel would have worked, my prince. No marriage should be arranged or forced. Back then I thought you wished it, a bond between you and the Balrog-Slayer ... that at least you were willing." He turned toward the elven prince with a quirking eyebrow and a smile, but the younger elf hung his head in shame, as whole his life he had been taught rules and now he had broken half of them. "Be not guilty, Legolas. Glorfindel had be dealt with later. I suppose your father does not know?" He was answered by a shake of his head. "I am sure that in the end, Legolas, he will understand. Look at me, Legolas." Hesitatingly the elf obeyed. "You have my support, and his. He is your father and he loves you. As for the child, you have my blessings."

Legolas could not believe it. Elrond was actually ... happy? He had even said his blessings, that ... It was unbelievable. With all right, Elrond should lash out at him, be angry, disappointed ... The elven Lord did not even demand an explanation of his pregnancy. How could this be?

"Thank ... thank you, milord," he stammered weakly. He found no other words.

Lord Elrond smiled.

They knew not that a pair of pale gray eyes were watching.

_---_

Legolas was glad to have it over with. He was yet overwhelmed by the fact that Elrond more than accepted this – the broken marriage, his child ... His soul was calmed but his heart was yet racing.

His father knew not yet. Did he? He could have known through lady Galadriel, long ago, but then he would have been followed ... found ... Or Elrond or Glorfindel could have sent a message. They could do any moment. What should he do then? He had to face his father. Tell him and explain for him somehow ... hoping he would understand. He hoped Thranduil understood at least partly. He had been through so much pain for this, the thing that upset Glorfindel and probably would make his father furious – his child.

He loved his child. He would die for his child rather than seeing him harmed.

But Thranduil ...

'Did you not tell yourself to stop thinking so much?' he thought with a sigh and felt this restlessness creep upon him again. Were the circumstances different, he would have all since the elves arrived spent his time with them or walked in the city, but right now he could not. People gave him curious glances and he knew why. The elves ... they should be ashamed that he had done something like this. He was sure that some of them did not approve.

"Legolas?"

The soft female voice drifted over to him like a soft breeze, but it startled him nonetheless. Legolas turned and inclined his head when he saw a familiar elven lady, clad now in white. "_Arwen, suilad_," he greeted, smiling. Like the twins were like his brothers, Arwen had long ago grown like a sister to him. "_Man tegile sí_?" he asked.

"Nothing but the sky, and the look on your face, _gwadeneth,_" she said and laughed softly. "You seem to be brooding again."

Legolas flashed a smile and hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I spoke with your father."

"Ah." She returned his smile. She knew as much as the twins and their father together about him and his condition, the marriage ... "Do not be troubled by such things. Will you come inside with me?" The clouds above were about to burst into rain soon again. Legolas followed her. She seemed slightly downcast; her smile forced on her lips, her laugh not a heartily sound.

"What troubles you, _onóre_?" he suddenly was afraid that she had second thoughts of the marriage, what if ... She had given up her immortality, after all. If the love between Estel and her was just between brother and sister, it was not too late for regrets and wishes. She would die as a mortal in the end now.

The skirts of her long dress rustled against the stone stair they walked upon. "It is nothing grave," she assured hurriedly, soothing his thoughts. "But ..." she stopped and bit her lip. In front of them opened a wide arch, supported by pillars. The wide opening led into a main corridor leading to the halls of the palace. "I envy you, in a way. It is childish of me. I and Aragorn has talked." She turned to look at him. "I want children as soon as possible, after the wedding of course, but he does not know if he is ready for that responsibility yet."

Legolas nodded when he realized the dilemma. After all, Aragorn was newly crowned king. There was no rush yet for an heir, and just like many lords and ladies he would rather be settled with his kingdom before he created a bigger family. "He does have responsibilities," he said softly.

"But he has me as well," Arwen said. The rustling continued as they took up walking again, towards the main hall. Legolas knew she had not much to do now when Aragorn was away. She did not meddle much in the affairs of men, and here the men were cautious in letting a female have any control. Faramir had as Steward been given the role as a loyal ruler and protector for the days Aragorn was gone. "I want to be young, Legolas, while I raise my children. My years will come quickly now when ... I do not wish an heir to be born in the last moment, simply out of the need of this kingdom."

Legolas knew not what he should answer. "Give him time," he suggested. "Estel is young yet ... there is time to wait for a child." '_Not for me', _he thought. _'I cannot believe that in a few months I __will be giving birth ...'_

"If it is time he needs..." Arwen smiled, slightly sad. Silence fell between them as they walked. Their steps, light as elven were, were silent and unheard; only Arwen's layered dress gave away their presence. Arwen spoke up after a time. "I miss him now even if he is gone just for a short time. I missed him in Rivendell ... waiting ... I was pursued into sailing by my father, Legolas, into leaving Aragorn forever. But then I saw him. My son. It was a vision that I will not forget." She looked up with shining eyes. "I will have a son one day."

That was why she had come back; for her son. Legolas nodded, understanding.

His eyebrows rose in surprise when she said, "I think I will name him already."

"Really, is that so, _onóriar_?" he asked.

"Yes ... Estelion. He will be my little Estelion, one day ..."

----

It passed three days before Aragorn and Gandalf returned. They had not changed and they brought only one small thing with them from their journey.

When he had returned, clad in his old clothes since the time as a ranger, Aragorn first went to find Arwen. He spotted her in the Great Hall, and she hurried to welcome him home. She had missed him even though he only had been gone for a few days.

"Estel," she said. "Is this why you were gone?" she asked, gesturing at the small bag that hung by his belt, but had not been there before.

"Yes. But now I am here and I think I will not leave for a time," he answered with a smile. He opened the bag and emptied the content in his palm; the seeds of the Eldest of Trees – the only one found in the world. It was this seed which would grow into the next White Tree of Gondor growing on the courtyard, for the old one was burned and tarnished since the war. This was like a sign for Aragorn which calmed some of his many thoughts. It was said that as long the line of this tree lived, so would the line of Elendil.

---

It was raining, the sky above gray, and gray was also his mood.

Thranduil thought the horses were too slow even though he pressed them to greatest speed, a speed only elven horses could reach. The riders were not tired yet. His escort was just holding a few of his men, clad in simple clothing and brown cloaks. He himself was clad simply, without anything marking him as king, except his cloak was in a colour of dark green. But under their simple clothing they had weapons and some of them light armour, including himself. He had no bow with him, but he carried several knives and by his side hung his sword which he long ago had been given from his father, Oropher.

But right now his thoughts were not in weapons, but the task beforehand. They had made it through Mirkwood's forests in only three days and now long wide plains stretched out before them. They were to cross Ithilien by the edge of Gondor's kingdom, then follow the Great river that met Andúin the rest of the way to Minas Tirith. Time was running out. He allowed only rest when the horses needed it.

The rain plastered their hair against their bodies. The colour of it varied among the rider, a handful had silver hair like their King, but there were elves with darker hair as well, brown or black. Closest to the King rode his eldest lifeguard, Lifae. The raven elf had been born during the same century as his King, making him the eldest in this company. Thranduil knew that Lifae refused to leave him from sight. 'If only I had not let Legolas from his sight,' he thought. 'Then this would not had happened.'

They rode on. As hours passed, the weather shifted, the rain lessened and the sun started to break through the clouds. The horses were tired, so Thranduil pulled for a halt. In the cover of a small grove, they rested and ate what food they had brought with them. The rain stopped falling and the sun shone clear when they left camp. After a time they saw the stretching green lands and forests, and raising above them the mountains of Emyn Muil. They rode into the night, when the sun disappeared in the horizon paining the sky red like blood before it faded and the sky turned dark. There were not stars that night, they were out of sight by dark low clouds.

They rested again by the foot of Emyn Muil, the dangerous labyrinth of sharp rocks surrounded by fog. They would not cross them, the risks inside were too great and it would take too much time. They would ride around them, one way or another, and then then would have to either cross the river if they rode West, or ride through the Dead Marches if they rode East. It was a long time ago since they had traveled here, the landscape had changed, but Thranduil knew much of it since young age. If they rode West, they would have to cross other marshlands and rivers many a time.

They would have to hurry. He pulled himself on his feet. It had started to rain again, and fog had started to surrounded them, sipping down from the mountains. They would cross the Dead Marches, it was the swiftest way – then they would reach Ithilien and old roads to Minas Tirith and Osiligath went from there. If not they were blocked or destroyed by the war that had last for so long, that was. His men were uneasy by the thought of crossing the Marches, but what could they do? They had to obey their king or turn back home, settling themselves and their family into shame by calling themselves a coward.

The horses were the hardest part. They were unable to ride, so they dismounted their steeds and led them by hand through the wet terrain. It rained. The horses were uneasy, snorting and stomping with their hooves, sometimes refusing to move an inch. Their masters had to murmur soothings into their ears to make them lift their hooves forward, and not backwards. The paths were hard to find for untrained eyes, and one could easily be tricked to walk into wrong ways by the pale ghostly faces glimpsing the water below, the small fires that seemingly on their own burned here and there around them. They followed their king, who knew this place. He had long before been here, walked these dangerous paths. Even thought long ago, nothing had changed, except that they could not see any red glow in the mountains of Mordor anymore.

They were silent on the road. The one time their raised their voices was in edging fear and panic when one of the horses slipped and its hoof was stuck. The horse panicked, and the elves had to help each other to release the poor animal. It took much of their precious tine. It still rained, even during night. The horse was sensitive after the episode and refused to be led by anyone than his master, an elf by the name Salch, and flinched when anyone else came near him. The nervousness was spread among the warriors.

In two days their trailed this path, one of many secret ways leading both east and west. Thranduil led them southwest, and when they stepped upon solid ground again they could not have been happier or more relieved. They rode only shortly, go find somewhere to rest. Then they did so and ate the food they had left. The marshlands had taken much of their strength.

The rain was hanging dangerously close. They could hear faint thunder and spot flashing lights in the horizon. The wind blew them in the face. This was getting worse. Thranduil cursed under his breath. Was the weather following his mood? He was both angry and worried, in his whole heart. If his son was hurt, someone would have to pay.

So they rode on. They had no time to wait for the weather to clear, so waiting the storm out was not an option. The closer to Minas Tirith they came, the worse it got. Under the covers of the trees in Ithilien they found short rest. Some of the horses sometimes were uneasy, and the riders tense – they were being watched. There must be guards in this area, of course. Rangers of Ithilien and such. But they were not hindered or confronted. Even thought traveling light and without any thing marking them as a part of royalty or any upper classes,

When they finally spotted Minas Tirith, the storm was almost passed, traveling north. Within days Mirkwood would be under storm. The roads leading into the city were full of activity. People of Mankind were traveling both from and to the city, but there were no evil among them, they were simply doing their work or walking from one of the outer villages of Gondor. Osiligath was being rebuilt now, so many had their goal there. Upon seeing the company of elves, unmistakable when they had not covered their hair or delicately pointed ears, people stared and called among each other. "See elves! See elves!"

But they hurried through the crowd, like Mithrandir had done weeks and weeks ago with Pippin with him on Shadowfaxe's back. The gates were open. The guards were surprised at the least upon seeing them, maybe even more so than when they had seen the company of Imradis arrive. For the elves of Imradis had been a slow procession through the city. But these riders were warriors, one could see that at their stern faces, and were riding at all haste as if they were chased by shadow.

It was a long time since he had been here, but Thranduil remembered and he led his men up the levels, to the highest where the palace was. There they were halted by guards; there was shock and surprise in their eyes.

"Halt!" one of them said. They did not recognize these elves, and the silver-haired one who was obviously the leader did not carry any emblem. "What are your business here?"

"I need to speak to your King or whatever lord that rules this land," Thranduil said after dismounting. He was taller than the guards, and the people of Gondor were known to be quite tall, caused by the Númenorean blood that yet would float in their veins. "My need here is dire as is my time."

Men came forth to escort the horses away, and Thranduil told his men in elvish to follow, but signaled to Lifae to follow him to the Halls instead.

Yet Thranduil did not know who was king here. Last time he had heard, there was a Steward ruling here, a son of Echelion; but there were rumours echoing about in this land of Men, and on the streets echoed an ancient name. Elessar. They said King Elessar. But was not the line of Isirdur dead?

But, he was reminded, Lord Elrond had said that name years ago and said that hope was reborn. That this hope had wished to even take his daughter's hand in marriage. Would it be possible that the hope was Isirdur's heir?

The wide doors to the halls opened. These halls were high and wide, all in white stone like the city itself. A long carpet led toward the throne in the centre of the room. Several doors were placed between pillars and statues of old dead kings. At the moment, there were not much activity in the room. The throne was empty. But a pale door was opened, and from it drifted the smell of food.

A tall dark-haired man clad in dark clothing with the Tree and the Seven stars embroidered on his chest. He wore no cloak, and his crown was simple. By his side walked The Evenstar, and she was clad in white and on her head was placed a silver circlet. The King, as it obviously was, thanked the servant that had fetched him and raised his eyes across the room.

Thranduil knew that face. This was Strider, the ranger that had come to his kingdom so long ago with the creature Gollum. Strider ... Elrond's foster son. Suddenly every piece fell into place. This was king Elessar, Estel of Imradis. Of course. As truth dawned on him Thranduil crossed the room and offered a bow, which Aragorn returned.

"I have come in search for my son Legolas, my lord," Thranduil said at last.

Aragorn nodded. He could lie, but by it Legolas would pay afterwards and he would as well... But Thranduil looked not angry – there was worry in his eyes. _"Le as telin, Aran nîn_," he said. Hearing elvish seemed to calm the look in Thranduil's eyes some. Aragorn, with Arwen with him, led the King of Mirkwood and his guard across the room, into the one he had come from earlier. It was a smaller dining room for the Fellowship.

The halflings, mainly Merry and Pippin, were bickering over bread. Gandalf was not there, he had left saying he had business to do. Gimli was in a corner smoking, and next to him, saying that it was not healthy, was Legolas.

It was the most bizarre company Thranduil had ever seen his son within. And his elfling's clothing was pale and made every curve seen. His body seemed too thin, like he had not eaten enough and the muscles had been left untrained for a time – and he had a swollen belly. It could only mean one thing.

His elfling ...

His elfling was pregnant. It teared at him. He should be angry, but he felt strangely numb for a moment. He had so many questions. Was this why Legolas had come here? Fled? And why was he in such a company as this? With a _dwarf,_ of all people?

Legolas looked up, and the smile he had had on his lips faded, his eyes widened. What was his father doing here? Oh god, his father ... There was shock in his father's eyes.

The halfling's had hushed their voices, seeing the new company. Sam had never seen this elf before, and he was ... different from the others. And the one next to him as well. They looked strong and dangerous, but were lighter in build than the other elves he had seen here, and their clothes were in other colour. Legolas stood slowly, not saying a word, expecting his father to lash out at him. He was a head shorter than the silver-haired king.

His son was right there. He was uninjured – and even though he was pregnant, Thranduil could not be angry at him. He had crossed marches and plains to reach him. And Legolas was here, he was happy – or had been until seeing him. He saw fear in his son's eyes, fear of being rejected without first have a moment to explain. There must be an explanation of this, his pregnancy ... Seeing his son on his legs broke his trance.

He moved forward quickly, crossed the room and laid his arms around his son. He had never before felt this relief. He would not let go of his son now. Legolas hesitated in his arms, unsure of his father's reaction. Thranduil held him close, to make sure he was there. But even though he was breathing in relief there was some anger in his voice when he murmured in Legolas ear. Annoyance that Legolas so easily had slipped away from his father's eyes. "_Ma nathach hi gwannathach or minuial archened_?"

Aragorn and Arwen had left leaving more privacy, but the hobbits and Gimli watched in confusion. They had not yet realized who this elf was. Their first thought was that this was the father of Legolas' child – they had not yet said any names to each other.

Thranduil pulled away some, his hands on Legolas' shoulders. Legolas looked at him with guilt in his eyes. "_Goheno nîn, adar. Nan Im nostache tule o Eryn Lasgalen ..._"

Frodo's eyes widened. He knew some elvish and the word 'adar' had been clear to him. This was King Thranduil? But now when he knew it, he saw the similarities between Thranduil's and Legolas' faces, their eyes ...Aye, this was Legolas' father.

"_Le naeg iaur emel nîn, penn las_," Thranduil sighed."_Man bragas le lénea?_"

Legolas knew not how to answer that question. So much had happened... He felt stares on his body from the hobbits, the surprised look from Gimli ... To his own surprise he saw Lifae standing in the doorway. The older elf met his gaze and gave a small bow. The hobbits watched in fascination, Frodo the only one to realize who the silver haired elf was.

Gimli coughed, catching the elf's attention. "So much for interrupting you two, but may I ask who you are ... and what you are doing here?"

Thranduil lifted his eyes and sent the dwarf a warning glare. He recognized this dwarf. This was Glóin's son. But Legolas held his father back, laying a hand on his arm. "_Ho mellon úyecotumo, adar_," Legolas murmured only for his ears, asking him to calm down and not do anything stupid. It would not do to become enemies with Gimli. He and his father should leave to somewhere more private where they could speak. He did not lower his hand from Thranduil's arm.

"I am Thranduil, Legolas' father, King of the Greenwood," the King introduced himself, ignoring the hobbit's curious looks. The dwarf gaped. This was Legolas' father? As if things could get worse! Gimli glared at the king. The king glared back. The feud about the imprisonment of the dwarves over fifty years ago had not yet settled. Luckily, Legolas stepped between and turned to his father. "_Mín turpadette, adar, ah sinome na gwenod medui_," Legolas murmured. He tugged gently at his father's arm.

Together, he and Thranduil left, and Lifae followed closely, never about to leave them from sight. Gimli was left behind with the hobbits in a furious state.

"What was that?" Pippin whispered to Merry as he glanced at the door, as if expecting the elves to stand there listening.

"No idea," Merry answered. "I have no idea. Maybe we should go ask Legolas. And was that just his father? He looked too young for that."

---

Legolas let his father lead them outside; Aragorn spotted them across the hall and acknowledged them with a small bow. He was, of course, worried what Thranduil's reaction had been and would be – the temper of the Mirkwood king was known to him – but he knew also that they would need privacy, a place to speak. He had one of the servants leading them outside on a balcony. The servant bowed and left; Lifae did not. However he backed away into the corner, so that he saw what happened and to be able to protect from dangers without disturbing them.

Thranduil did not enjoy or look at the sights, the horizon, the people below. His eyes were focused on Legolas, who stood waiting; his shoulders were tense, his eyes lowered out of respect but then and now he glanced up. He waited for Thranduil to speak.

When the elven king did so, it was in anger.

"Do not lie to me now, Legolas – when I told you of your betrothal, where you pregnant?" He had no time for long talks and explanations, these way-around questions. He needed answers right now. Somehow, even though beyond angry and also ashamed of his son's actions, he felt ... happiness, even pride. Pride that his elfling was having his own little elfling.

"Yes, father." Legolas' voice was muffled.

"Does the father of this child know?"

"N ... Yes, father."

Thranduil's impatience laced in his voice. "And who is the father?"

Legolas hesitated, bit his tongue. He could not tell, in his heart he could not. And yet ... And his father could not harm Egil; Egil was ... unreachable ... He was out of harm. But his father would be so disappointed ...

The silence both annoyed and disturbed Thranduil.

"Legolas! I demand you answer me. Who is the father – is it Lord Glorfindel?"

"... No, father," Legolas murmured.

He did not raise his eyes. He was ashamed now, his cheeks heated, with tears burning behind his eyes.

"Just answer me! Is it a Lord? A warrior? Or someone else?"

"A ... warrior. But it does not matter," Legolas said hurriedly.

Thranduil frowned and cupped his elfling's cheek, forcing him to look up. "How can it not matter, Legolas?" He softened his voice. "Is he your lover?"

Legolas blinked, he had not suspected such a question, and it brought also pain into his heart. His lover ... Egil was and had been his lover, as well as Éomer was his lover now.

"Y-Yes ... Yes, he was my lover," he said, strengthening his voice even thought his tongue stumbled and then he realized his mistake.

Thranduil's frown deepened. "He _was_ your lover ..."

And then Legolas felt like he wanted to cry, tear himself from his father and this world and simply cry. Why would Thranduil need to ask who ... Who the father was ... Was it so important? It was _his_child, and he loved his child, and he loved the father, but Egil's bloodline did not matter. Not to him. He did not cry, but he was nearly crying, with a racing heart. Thranduil let go of his cheek and Legolas' form slumped. He did not want his father to see him like this, this weak ... He hated being this weak!

His father had not seen him cry since he was a child. He had not cried over Egil when he had the word that he had been buried. Not when his father or anyone else was there. It was in the silence of the dark night that he had crawled into a tight ball and become a crying child again.

"I am sorry father," he whispered.

Thranduil laid his hands on his shoulders. "_Ion nîn_, why do you say so?"

Legolas felt as the words were the end of all thought and he exploded, backed from his father's grasp.

"Because I've failed you!" he cried. "Because all I've done is wrong! Because what I feel isn't enough and isn't right, every emotion I have is against what I've been taught so hard! Because I'm so weak! I'm not enough for anything! Because I cannot ..." Thranduil laid his arms around him as his cries broke down to muffled sobs. He continued screaming into his father's chest, but found not the strength to fight his secure arms around him.

"Sch ... sch,_penneth_," Thranduil murmured, stroking Legolas' hair and circles over his back. "_Ninia_ c_erial ... Non sí, lîn adar sí ..."_He held Legolas as his child cried. In a way he was relieved. In another concerned, for his son's lover, whoever he was, must be dead. Dead ...

_During the escape of Sméagol, elves had died._

Three of them had died. One of them ... One of them could have been Legolas' lover. Afterwards, Legolas had been more tense, more quiet ... "Oh _lasseth_, I am sorry," he murmured. Once Legolas was emotionally better, they would talk of this lover. They would need to talk. At least, he would need a name for the father of his grandchild.

_---_

"... And was that just his father? He looked too young for that," Merry said.

"Yes," Frodo said. "That was Legolas' father. Didn't you hear? Not only did he introduce himself, Legolas called him 'adar'."

"So? Does that mean something?" Pippin asked.

"Yes, it is the elvish word for father. Legolas apologized for something ..." Frodo shook his head. "I don't know of what. I could not understand all of what they said."

"But something you heard, right?" Merry asked. "Care tell us?"

Sam just shook his head, muttering, "If I had a word, I would say that that, err ... King Thranduil, looked angry." He glanced at Gimli, the dwarf had started pacing while muttering in dwarfish. Thranduil had seemed concerned and the anger was not really visible until he saw Gimli.

"Don't look at me!" Gimli growled. "Look, that elf imprisoned my father fifty years ago, and yet he hasn't forgotten it or said any word of ... forgiveness ... for imprisoning those who happened to cross his realm. It's not my fault, it's _his_!" He turned to Frodo. "You know, right? I doubt your uncle Bilbo kept his mouth shut about it."

Frodo nodded

Pippin frowned. "Why can't you just try to apologize, I mean, so then he'll say sorry and you will ..."

"Get over with it?" Merry finished.

Gimli exploded. "What! Are you totally_out of your minds_!?"

Pippin glanced at his hobbit friends. "What? We just suggested it," he said innocently.

_---_

Slowly Thranduil pulled away from his son. "_Hi man_?" he asked. Legolas nodded, still angry and sad at himself for giving in and crying like this, to tell his father that ... But Thranduil's eyes held forgiveness as well as remorse, making Legolas frown. The king said nothing, just shook his head and caressed his forehead, smoothing out those lines of worry.

"_Hir Glorfindel e Hir Elrond, cerie huin iste hi_?" he asked after a pause of silence.

Legolas bit his lip and nodded. They knew, in a way, at least part of the truth. He did not wish for them to know more.

"I must speak with them, some way ... They are here, I guess?" Thranduil said and pulled away to leave, seeing his son nod, but then paused and frowned. "May I just ask why I found you in such bizarre company earlier?"

"It is a long story, father," Legolas said, managing a small smile. He was sure that no matter how long, his father would demand to hear everything. "It is a long story ..."

"Then go back to them," Thranduil suggested. "Where do I go to find the Lords?"

Legolas explained where the elves from Imradis where living for now, 'til Aragorn and Arwen's wedding that was. Thranduil was hesitant to leave his son from sight, so he turned to Lifae before he left. "Care hold an eye on him, do you?"

"_Nathon tirith, Aran nîn_," Lifae said and bowed. He had heard every single word spoken, and it was not the first time either that he had witnessed something like this between the son and king. Both were stubborn and full of emotions and intentions. The pair could argue even at the door of battle ...

He turned to the prince, who looked to be struggling with himself. With a sigh, Legolas started to move towards the arching gateway from the balcony. The guard fell in step beside him. He was one of the few who was allowed to and dared to speak directly with the Prince, though now he was silent. He read the Prince easily like an open book.

"_Ho úno meren nin,_" Legolas murmured, more to himself than to the elf beside him.

He trusted Lifae with his life, and not once had the elven guard let his tongue slip, telling others what he was told from the Prince and the King. Sometimes, speaking with Lifae was like speaking to himself, except Lifae simply refused to speak of some matters and opinions he held himself.

"_Ho úno ..._" Then he silenced.

Together they walked through the hall, toward the dining chambers again. In the doorway Lifae paused, letting the prince walk inside to his talking friends and take seat. But Legolas beckoned him to follow, both because he was calmed by the presence of a friend long since had, and he also knew that his father wanted Lifae to watch him. It was plainly obvious.

Hesitantly, Lifae moved into the room, but didn't sit down, only stood close to the door. Legolas sighed inwardly, the other elf was like usual. The norms of Mirkwood were in that elf's very blood.

He turned to the hobbits, frowning slightly when he realized that a certain dwarf was not there. "Where is Gimli?" he asked.

Merry shrugged. "He's got all angry and said he needed some time with real company."

"Dwarven company, of course, " Sam added. It was obvious that his eyes were on Lifae, with his attention, and his head was full of curios questions. Who was this strange elf? He did not look like a relative to Legolas at all. His hair was dark like ebony, much like the hair of the elves from Imradis, and he was broader than Legolas and his father. A friend, maybe? It could possibly not be a brother.

Legolas caught Sam's gaze and smiled softly, and gave Lifae a stubborn look, beckoning him to sit.

"I forgot to introduce my friend, and guard, Lifae Farathion. Lifae, these are my friends Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck and ... "

"But call me Merry! One always stumbles with the tongue over 'mer-i-a-doc'."

"And Pippin! Don't forget me!" Pippin piqued up from the far end of the table. He greeted the dark-haired elf and then turned to Merry. "Send me the bread?" The two younger ones were again caught up in food.

Lifae sat silent, and Legolas was not bothered by this. The guard took time to study the prince's friends, as they obviously were. He politely refused the food they offered. He had never seen a halfling before, but he had heard of them, and they were not at all as he had imagined them. At first, he had thought them more like dwarves, their voices raw, their appearance different. But these did not even have a beard! It was curios with their ears, pointy they were. Their speech was daily and easy, even though mannered, and he noticed that the way Prince Legolas spoke with them also was different than when he spoke at the court. A dark-haired hobbit sitting opposite to the Prince was rather quiet and his voice softer than the other's. The others had hair in shades of blonde or sandy brown, and their eyes were large and at least the two youngest ones sparkled with energy. They did not look old, any of them.

He saw that Legolas' hands were always in movement. He ate sparely, but his hands always moved, grasped the fork, he gestured as he spoke, he pulled at his tunic ... The prince was nervous, this nervousness you have by waiting.

"Hey! I took that first!"

Merry and Pippin were bickering again, distracting him from his thoughts. He studied them curiously. At the same time, he felt how the blonde hobbit sitting next to Frodo was gazing at him with large eyes. Curiosity was in those eyes. Mayhap the hobbit had seen few elves, or he was curious and wanted to know everything about them.

"I saw it first. It's mine. But we'd better get outside. We're not allowed to smoke in here, you know."

"No? Pity. But well, we don't want Aragorn or Lady Arwen angry, and better not Gandalf."

"But he smokes all the time!"

The two were off from the room with pipes and weed. Legolas had raised an eyebrow, amused. Lifae short a glance at the prince. "_Huin no limb tó_?"

Legolas answered with a smile. "Aye, they are."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Author's notes: **I've lost writing time during vacation by the sea, hence the wait. Anyway, enjoy! (This chapter is unbeta'd; glostarz, I'll send you this on the other day, if you yet wish to beta. Thanks.)_

_**Elvish:**_

_Adar - Father_

_Pennas o Odolumb - Stories from Sevenshade (I came up with this title myself; it is a story-book for children, elvish children as it is written in Sindarin, with a lot of short and long stories, like their version of Snow-white and all that ... Sevenshade/Odolumb is some fantasy land for children they've come up with ^^) _

_Ion – son_

_Le hannon, adar – Thank you, father_

_Taur-nu-Fuin – Mirkwood_

_**Reviews:**_

_Elinka: War rising ... Yeah, pranks-war must have some time to exist now when the real War is over. _

_mikinyet: If not for Gimli, I'd say Thranduil would be angrier at his son. Maybe I'll take give Thranduil and Gimli some time together to settle peace (or risking to start a new war)?_

_Ninfea di Luna: Hey, thanks for the review. Glad you like. By the way, I read your story and I think reveiwed it, tell me if I'm wrong. It's a good story and it was fun! And those ... bears? I never saw that one coming._

**----**

**Chapter 32**

----

Lord Elrond knew that Thranduil was here the moment the elven king stepped through the massive gate of Minas Tirith. The King even thought thinking himself discreet was easily spotted through the many people of Mankind – with his tall form and pale long hair, how could he be missed from view?

Glorfindel saw him, and was reminded of his anger again. He needed to speak with Thranduil at once. It was odd though that he was here; for no message had been sent for him, as far as he knew. Glorfindel grabbed his cloak and hurriedly left the buildings appointed to them, to leave for the palace and the throne. That must be the first place that Thranduil would go to. But when he came outside, he was stopped by Lord Elrond. "I will come with you, Glorfindel," he said. "I may have a word with him as well." Silently in his mind he added, that he must keep a careful eye on his golden-haired friend and guardian.

Not even Thranduil would be totally free from Glorfindel's anger.

When they arrived, they saw Thranduil closely followed by a probable guard, and his son by his side, coming from one of the side doors of the hall. They crossed the hall, led by a servant. Glorfindel made a move to follow them but Elrond stopped him laying a hand on his shoulder. "No, we wait here. Obviously the two must first be alone."

What Glorfindel muttered under his breath was lost to even Lord Elrond. Together they took seat by a table further down the hall, where they yet could see the two doors from which the Mirkwood elves had left.

Minutes passed before they saw them again, Thranduil walking across the room alone, leaving Legolas and the guard walking back to the dining chambers again. When Thranduil crossed their path, the King looked up, as if he had expected to see them. Elrond sent Glorfindel a warning look, telling him with it clearly that he should be silent and let him do the talking.

"King Thranduil, how good to see you," Elrond said.

"Lord Elrond," the king greeted. "Lord Glorfindel." Glorfindel returned his bow and clenched his jaw shut to keep his anger inside and not lash out at the king right now and right here. Thranduil did not notice his anger; if he did he did not show it. "We need to speak. Let us find somewhere private," Thranduil suggested.

Elrond agreed. Glorfindel had no choice but to follow and keep nice and quiet, until time was right to speak. He was the one of lowest rank now after all, and straight forward complaints would not be the first thing Thranduil would like to listen to. He had a feeling this conversation would be long, painfully so, and tense, reaching to the hours of nightfall ...

_---_

"Legolas, may I come in?"

Startled, Legolas turned around. The morning was yet quite early, the sun waking the city up. The sky was cloudless today, and the day was warm. He had opened the window to let in fresh air, and outside it was never silent, a mix of voices and singing birds. It had been a day since Thranduil had arrived, and Legolas had not seen him that much – he probably was with Elrond or some other lord, and with Aragorn. Or resting and eating with the rest of his company.

He quickly pulled on a pair of leggings and grabbed a loose tunic before he crossed the room and opened the door. He knew that voice clearly. "_Adar, _why are you here this early?" he asked.

Thranduil smiled softly. "Am I not allowed to see my son?" he asked. His mood was definitely better since the last time they had spoken. Legolas was near to frown but blanket his expression before he returned the smile and opened the door wider.

"Of course, _adar_. Come in. Feel like home."

Thranduil had sparely been in the surroundings of men. It was strange to believe that his son had lived here for quite a time, and without his own kind. The room was made totally of stone, with the exception of some furniture, and he knew Legolas mostly did not like that. In Mirkwood, where their home was made out of caves in the ground much like it was once in the old Doriath, Legolas had put wooden panels across the walls and the floors of his chambers, and the had a window turned toward his own garden nearby.

While Legolas started to dress properly, Thranduil spoke. "I spoke with Lord Elrond and Glorfindel yesterday, after I left you with your friends." Legolas tensed. Spoken to them? More shouting at them would be more like it, he imagined.

"What ... what did they say?" he asked carefully, sitting down on the bed to lace his boots.

"They were of course angry, ion, but also understanding. They have forgiven your actions as I have ... though I must know more later," he added in a silent murmur, more to himself than to his son. Then he cleared his throat and continued. "I had quite a long and, how should I put it, interesting talk with Glorfindel after Lord Elrond left us in private. There were things we had to discuss. We decided to break the marriage; you are no longer betrothed to him and has no bounds whatsoever to him. I will send an announcement to Mirkwood and Imradis about this ..."

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. "_Le hannon, adar_." Glorfindel was still probably angry but at least they were not tied.

"I also told him to stay away from you now until his anger has settled." He did not tell it out loud, but it had also reached his ears about Glorfindel's near-violence toward his son, and his son's answers to that. The elven lord still had a fading bruise and a broken lip.

Gingerly Thranduil lifted the book which lay on the nearest shelf, a writing in elvish.. Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil studied him. It was strange to see his elfling thus, his belly grown, with pride and the slight concern of a parent in his eyes. A silence fell between them. Through the open window they heard the daily activities of the city, footsteps, voices, hooves clambering upon stone, someone calling out from a market about prizes. Thranduil put down the book, a copy of _Pennas o_ _Odolumb _- wondering where they could have found that one, it was only a silly book for elven children, which his son had always liked even when he turned to an adult – and turned to his son. Legolas was fully dressed, the clothes white and black in clours.

"I came to see you, 'Las, and have a word with you. Is there somewhere we can sit?"

Legolas nodded and led him out of the room, toward a balcony garden. They sat down beside each other on a stone bench. Below in the city people moved about with no idea of what was going on in the palace and among its guests, and further away on the streets toward Osiligath activity never faltered.

"Yes, _adar_?" Legolas turned to him, bidding him to speak first.

"You know that I have spoken with Lord Elrond and Glorfindel recently, though that is not what I came to tell you originally," Thranduil spoke in Sindarin. "I must leave soon, Legolas, but since I have hear that the wedding of Elessar will soon take place, I am about to stay to witness this union. It is rare, and after all, it is Lord Elrond's daughter were are speaking of. I am sure if I am not here, Lord Elrond would be very displeased, at the slightest." He gave a small smile. Now that the marriage between his son and Lord Elrond's close councilor and friend was broken, then he did not wish to risk any more disputes and broken bonds between them. "I will send a message to _Taur-nu-Fuin_."

"I am glad you will stay," Legolas said, though in fact he was also nervous. His father knew not much yet.

"Unfortunately I must leave already the day after the wedding. I know not if you wish to come with me, Legolas? I see you have friends here, and you have already stayed for a time. Perhaps traveling would be foolish now, for you, when ..."

He laid a hand on Legolas' tummy. Legolas held back a flinch at the touch, he was not used having someone just touching in like that, even though Merry and Pippin would sometimes demand to see if the baby moved. They loved to that ... Just like Éomer loved to see him.

"Aye, adar ... And I have friends here." _Special friends,_ he added in his mind. Éomer was that, a special friend. "But I will come back, one day," he hurriedly said.

"You have not much time left?"

Legolas shook his head. "Not more than some four months."

Thranduil nodded. "Then come back as soon as you can,_ ion_."

Legolas flashed a smile, though again nervousness had started to tug at him._ I cannot go back to live there, can I, when Éomer and I ... I must tell adar before he leaves. Tell him of Éomer and I. _"Of course, adar."

--

Time passed; time of waiting and preparing. People were full of excitement for the wedding of Elessar and Úndomiel. The hobbits did not grow restless, and neither did Gandalf; they rested and talked and strolled through the city without any hurry. Aragorn had his time full and Arwen spend time with her father. Legolas was slightly restless, though, even when he spent time with his father catching up the time they had missed during the quest. He was yet nervous to let his tongue slip about Éomer, or Egil. His father has just once asked about his former lover, and hesitatingly, Legolas had given his lover's name, but not more than that, not even who his father and mother were. He was not so sure of how Thranduil would react ... Not that his own son had had a secret relationship, that reaction he had already seen, but if he found out how long it had been, or that the elf was the son of his councilor ... ! It was a reaction Legolas both feared and was intrigued with. He had no idea of how his father would react.

He would contact Egil's father, he thought. What would his reaction be? Anger, happiness? He was after all a prince and to find one's son was father to a prince's unborn child ...

He told himself to stop thinking so much and tried to focus on something else. So he spent time also with the hobbits and Gimli, though he did not walk often in the city with them. If an elf was on the streets, people would stare. He did not like stares, even though they were mostly unable to be avoided by now.

Were he not with Gimli or the hobbits, he spent time with elves. Now when the betrothal between him and Glorfindel was officially broken he dared to approach the Imradis elves again and they welcomed him happily, not blaming him for anything which eased his heart. With them he lost his doubts for a time. There were elves in the city which he knew and did not know. The guards from Mirkwood lived with them the time they were here and Legolas knew the name of each one of them, but many of the elves from Imradis were unfamiliar to him. Lifae, his and his father's life-guard, seemed to be familiar with some of the guards from here though and introduced the prince with them. One of them also happened to be Lifae's cousin, with hair just as dark as Lifae. He was taller than them both, working as a soldier in Lord Elrond's household. It was a mere, lucky, coincidence that he had been picked to follow on the journey to Minas Tirith.

This day, he was spending time with the twins. In the edge of the courtyard made for training with weapons, Elladan stood facing his brother in an attack position, both with swords in hand. Legolas stood by their side watching their swordplay. He wished greatly that he had been able to take a part of it as well but both elves had strictly forbidden it, for clear reasons.

"And mind your feet, 'Ro," Elladan reminded his brother, before they moved and steel met stel with a clang. They had practiced for an hour, and out of two matches they had won one each.

Elrohir jerked back and then up his sword, blades scratching against each other, then the handle slipped from Elladan's grip and his sword flew in a wide arch from them and landed on the gravel. Elrohir made an innocent grin, which broke into a half-laughter and half-cry of surprise when his brother threw himself onto him.

From where he was sitting in the grass, Legolas' laughter floated over to them. The two tumbled to the ground, swords forgotten and replaced by hands. Soon their fight turned into tickling-match, their cries of laughter startling the men who were training not far from them.

"Hey, hey, let me go! It's stinking awfully down here!"

"Ai, mercy, El'! Watch what you're- Ow, watch it! That's my-"

It took some time for them to untangle, and Legolas had to stand up and pull the brothers apart when they both refused to give up. They were receiving amused looks. "You always act like such little elflings," Legolas commented.

Elladan dusted off his clothing. "Well, but we are _matured_ and_ humble _elflings."

His brother elbowed him playfully, earning a glare and a warning punch, to which Elrohir ducked to avoid. Legolas just shook his head; the two would never grow up, even though they of course could be serious when they had to. In a way it was soothing to know them like this. "I am not so sure if I agree on that," the wood-elf said, moving backwards some when the two brothers started to pick up their swords and make themselves ready for another round of swordplay.

"Come on, then!" Elrohir urged. "I promise no punching is in order."

Legolas rolled his eyes. Elladan did the same. "All right. I cannot promise the same thing about tickling, though."

And then their swords clashed again, metal flashing in the sharp sunlight, sand swirling around their feet. The open place between high white walls was quite full of people, men and elves, training with both swords and bows. The sounds echoed between the walls, reaching the windows in different buildings set about the palace.

Looking down at the three elves – who were unaware of that they were being watched - was a pair of green, dulled eyes.

----

He had to hurry, he knew. Yet, there was still time ... They did not need to attack until after the wedding. After the wedding, people would be more relaxed ... not on their guard. Not yet. After the wedding it would have gone over a month and more since the loss of the Great Evil in the east. But his Master was anxious, time was running out. Without his Power ...

His Master's power was not gone yet but very faltered and they knew one solution to that. One way to turn time and bring him new strong powers and life. They needed to hurry.

The men were surveying and guarding north Gondor and not east but west. First they had planned to hurry west, towards the lands of those small weak little halflings, who thought that even through so much evil and war, their lands were yet safe and untouched ... But then things changed, and his Master then remembered a small detail that changed all of his plans. They would go west of Arda, yes – later. First there was something they needed to bring with them. For time being, their refuge was well hidden deep down, much further north and east.

He had spent three weeks hidden in Minas Tirith now, crawling through tunnels and hiding in dirty alleys, following servants and spying of the guards. He learned their routines, and when the short moments came when he could actually go unseen. The most important moments where these. Like this he had hidden and come closer and closer to his goal. He knew that once he found what he needed, he had to run and could not sneak out of here – the risks of getting discovered where too great.

It was unsettling to know that Gandalf, that false damned wizard which had destroyed most of his life so, was here and close by. The Istar seemed to know everything of what was going on – but perhaps, if it was true that he had not known for sure that the One was hidden in the Shire for so long, maybe this would also go unnoticed, and too late he would find out what had been going un right under his nose.

Revenge. Revenge was so near and he was angry than most that he was not allowed to kill the bastard.

Today, air was warm and dry. The streets were full of activity, and he used this to travel in the open – clad in a gray cloak, disguising himself as an old weak beggar, he walked from his hiding place toward the plaza and the palace. It was a coincidence that he has reached this building and once inside, looked out to see the elves. Elves ... Temptation was great, and so near; below were creatures of which one he would soon have. His Master had promised ...

Then he continued, not daring to stop at once place too long. Through an old door, he slipped, then walking up the wooden stair that was inside. It creaked beneath his feet. It was turning up and up further, to one of many towers. At the top there was a window and a door opposite to each other. Carefully he slid the door open and inch and peered outside. The ground was of white stone On the left side there was a wall, that soon ended though; it was yet in process of being repaired since the war. On the right side there was another building, a small house made for guards. The guards themselves were sitting on the ground, eating; there were two of them. He opened the door some more, with one hand reaching beneath his cloak.

One guard called out and raised to his feet when seeing the stranger, clad in gray. But then he stumbled backwards in surprise, a knife suddenly coming flying to bury in his throat where his armour was weak, and he fell – one second he glimpsed a malice face before he was lost to the world. The second guard was on his feet now, sword in hand, swirling around, but one moment passed then he lay dead to, a nail not longer than his thumb buried in his neck. The poison was a slight dose but strong and his life ended without noise or struggle.

He was satisfied with his job; they had died quickly and without a sound, no one came and no one called so this little murder had drawn no attention. He doubted there were any more guards here; this was just an old unused stair with as old doors leading to dusty hallways. Luckily, he knew where they led. This plateau was on the highest level of the city but he gave no time to admire the views. He collected his dagger and took the nail carefully, inspecting it, before putting it back with his others in a pocket of his cloak.

He hurried on, past the house of the guards to a small door behind it. He thanked whoever had decided to build this door; if it had not been here, then he would have to use the main gate of the palace and sneak through the whole building to reach the libraries – that was where he was going. He knew the way inside though he did not know the exact position of the old library. It was then he would have to use ... some help.

The hallway held no stairs but sloped downwards. They were old, dusty, dark – with only a few torches by the walls to guide him. Webs were spun in the corners between floor and walls, walls and ceiling. Total silence ruled here. He could hear his own raspy breath, echoing down the cave-like hall. But darkness and echoes did not frighten him, he was used to dark caves now – this was only a part of the job.

In the far end where two doors. He choose the smallest one, using the key he had been given by his Master to open it. Outside there was another hallway, wider and lighter but emptied of people now. Most people in the city were outside, it was fine weather and the air in here damp. He could smell aged wood from somewhere. On fast feet he rounded a corned, drawing his cloak closer around him and used the hood to hide his face from view. Just in case. His face was not one to be easily forgotten.

Along the walls, benches were lined, over them were windows giving a view of the city below. This hallway was an outer one. There were no breezes from outside, the air warm. Now he needed fetch some help. A servant who knew this place. They held no greater value anyway, so it would not hurt that he had to kill him or her afterwards.

Then he heard footsteps, soft like they had been trained to be so; he glanced around. Coming from another turn of the corridor was a girl, clad in a black and silver livery, holding a set of neatly folded sheets in her arms. She did not look up and saw not how he quickly hid from view; she continued to the door leading into a room, what room he did not know.

He had his idea now. She would be the one leading him to the libraries. She looked fragile; she could, hopefully, easily be bent to obey him. If she proved to be any trouble, he could easily kill her.

He pulled out his dagger, moved towards the door, and waited. From the creaked open door he heard the young maiden's murmured voice, quietly singing some song he had not heard and could not care of either. He admitted she was a beauty; like most girls in her age, capturing a man's eye. It was almost a pity he had to kill her.

She was unaware of the watching eyes. It was any normal day and now when the war was over she would let down her guard. This was a safe place, she was not in any dangers; it was any normal day, nothing else. She was unsure of who was using this room but she knew these were one of the chambers that the members of the Fellowship had while in Gondor. She quickly made the bed and then opened the curtains and the window, letting in fresh air and sunlight. As usual when alone, she murmured on a song she had learned as a child.

She thought she was alone. But when she walked outside her heart jumped a beat in shock and her breath caught in her throat, when a knife was pressed testily against her vulnerable throat, an arm of someone unknown pressing around her waist.

"Do you know the palace, girl?" a raspy voice asked behind her. She found no tongue, just nodded shakily; she had worked here for four years now.

"Good. Now you will lead me, quietly and calmly, without any struggle, to the old libraries. If you fight, you die."

How could she disobey? She trembled as she led the unknown man on. The arm fell away from her waist and the knife was moved from her neck to press loosely against her back; there it was unseen bu the man's body. If passing them, one could not have thought anything ill; at least if the man pulled off his hood. The girl managed to make herself look calm and collected, almost blank, though her eyes were yet wide of terror.

The corridors they passed were mostly empty. Sometimes they passed another servant who gave them no second glance. She pretended she led a guest; the man was actually slightly impressed that she had not began struggling and screaming for aid like he thought most girls would do. Well, she was a servant. Only a servant.

They passed three stairs and doors; one was open, a corridor with a two old men sitting on a bench, reading and discussing something. They did not look up when the servant and the man passed by. Here the ceiling was held up by a few pillars; they were deeper down now, maybe two levels or so, beneath the palace and all the stonework and people.

Once before, Gandalf the Gray had been here when searching for documents of Isirdur and the Ring. Now Gandalf the Gray did not even exist and the man did not think of the small fact that most istari had been here, long ago.

The last door was locked; but he had the key, the second key of the two his Master had given him. The girl trembled slightly, trying to hide a shudder when she felt his breath against her neck. The door creaked when it opened. He pushed her inside, closed the door behind them and ordered her to find candles or a torch. She obeyed without a word, yet tongue-tied. The man let his hood fall back, exposing dark hair and a tired pale face. She flinched when she gave him a lit candle in its holder. He said nothing, only pushed her away into a corner. One look was enough.

She lowered her eyes and wished she was just dreaming. What would the man do? It was obvious he was searching for something. If not he only wanted to use her ... She shuddered at the thought. What would he do? Kill her? She wanted to scream for help – but who would hear?

The man ignored her, mostly, only glanced back at her from time to time to see if she was where he had left her. He searched through old books and documents, after the one volume his Master had given him the title of. Without these guidelines, he would not have come this far this quickly, he knew that. Even though this was a small room,

It took time. Minutes. The air was thick and warm down here, the silence tense. The girl clenched and unclenched her fists, waiting, her heart pounding so loud she was sure the man heard it was well. She did not know how long time it took but it maybe was half an hour, before he made a sound – a silent noise, one of delight. He had found what he had been looking for, obviously. The thought scared her – what was it? She knew she must tell someone of this. The King must know that a cloaked armed man sneaked around the palace. She was also intrigued in her fear . Why? What was it the man wanted, and why?

The man pulled out a thick large book, dusty and unused for centuries. There was a whoosh of air when he dropped it onto the large wooden desk in the center of the room, opening the volume. The pages were stiff and the text upon them fading, the ink old. The language itself was old, the letters unknown to most people. Yet the man seemed to not be reading. No, he was counting, counting the pages. Somewhere in the middle, he opened the book again. Here a large part of the page was missing, carved out. The rest of the book was glued together, so that what he really was looking for was hidden - the book itself was just a shell to hide, otherwise useless.

It was a box. A small iron box. He took it up and opened it; inside lay a few folded parchments. He grabbed them, hid them in a pouch hanging in his belt, before he put back the now empty box into the book, closed the volume and put it back on the shelf. His job here was done now; almost. Now he just had to get out.

He turned to the girl, who stood trembling in the corner. Malice gleamed in his eyes. She gasped when he pulled out his dagger and moved closer; she pressed herself backwards against the shelf-covered walls, swallowed rapidly. She found it hard to breathe; the man would kill her. She was not ready to die ... she had not enjoyed life yet, not even married yet! "Please, no," she whimpered as he moved closer, his cloak capturing her.

"It is a pity you have to die. You are almost too pretty for that," he whispered, before he drove the knife into her stomach. _A pity ..._ She sank to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing, full of terror yet like in the moment of dying. Blood pooled on the ground, on her body, her dress.

He hid her body in a dark dusty corner. He could not risk being discovered, not yet – and few ventured here. He would leave by dawn; steal a horse and then follow the usual chaos of people from and to the city on the roads. It would be easy to disguise himself.

Gave the girl one last glance. Yes, it was a pity – he could have used her first, found some pleasure in life between all killings and services for his Master. But then he paused, and shook his head; he needed to have patience. Patience. Soon, he would have what rightly belonged to him ...


	33. Chapter 33

_**Author's note: **Sorry. A very late update. So I tried to make a longer chapter instead (and still have it readable, interesting and/or fun and/or at least something happening).The chapter here and the previous chapter 32 stretch over a time period of four weeks (to the wedding), so between two scenes it can have gone some time. There's a flashback from Legolas' past, where his age is your guess, mentioning his mother and his dead brother by name. They are OCs, so they are about the only content I own on this page; the rest is Tolkien's invention. As you might guess by the text, Elenorne is Legolas' mother and Doron his brother._

_**Reviews:**_

_Ninfea di Luna: Thanks for reviewing again! (Well yes, I know of the ewoks – but it surprised me to see them in Middle-Earth! A new idea!)_

_mikinyet: Unfortunately, all dangers aren't overcome yet ... Who is the bad guy now then?!_

_glostarz: Thanks for betaing! And remember I said how this chapter, when I sent the DocX-files to you, would be longer I could not get all of it written, hence the shortening down. Next chapter will be happier!_

_Elinka: More Elladan and Elrohir here; I realize them, the hobbits and lately also Glorfindel hasn't gotten much time in this story, more like in the background. But it's hard to keep everyone happy right! One have only so much you can handle (especially with the twins around). This new evil thing, I should not reveal to much about him/her/it should I?_

_Wytman: Thank you for the review! New readers, we like! Okay, I apologize for this late update, and the terrible cliffhanger – hey, I try to make this into something interesting here!_

_**Elvish:**_

_Eru – God_

_naneth; nana – mother; mommy/mum_

_adar; ada – father; daddy/dad_

**----**

**Chapter 33**

**----**

Both Elladan and Elrohir were covered in a thin layer of sweat. Elves usually didn't sweat, even when working hard, but they had trained for hours and the day was warm. The sun shone above. Dust settled on the gravel when they, in company of Legolas, left the fields. Elladan had an ugly bruise across his left arm; when Elrohir had tried to look innocent he had simply earned a thin gash across his thigh. Their injuries would heal within a few hours, so there was nothing to worry about, though as always they had some revenge-plotting going against each other. Even when they worked together they could be planning against themselves.

"So, what do you say about some ... work, El'?" Elrohir suggested, and winked.

"Sure. Your room?"

"Meet you there, right."

Elrohir put his sword back in its sheath and disappeared around the corner. His twin turned to Legolas by his side. The wood-elf had that glint in his eyes which meant he knew what was going on, so Elladan asked,

"Does the prince wish to come with us?"

"El', do you ever learn?" Legolas asked, making his face to a stone facade but it broke into a grin. "Do not call me that. And no, I will not risk my neck by meddling in your affairs, thank you."

"Pity. Well, don't come and say you missed your chance!" Elladan grinned and made a small bow. "God day, my prince." Then he turned and ran. Even though Legolas was pregnant, did that mean that he was slower or weaker? He rather not risk finding out.

Legolas tried to hit him but missed. "El'!" But the twin turned his head and waved his hand, then followed his brother's steps out of sight.

Legolas shook his head, chuckling. Those two never grew up, no. He a had a feeling that their 'work' had something to do with their prank war with Merry and Pippin ... It could not end well, if he knew them right. Eru, he would really need to see Elrond's face - and theirs – if the elven lord found out! He could only imagine Elrond's reaction. Oh, the embarrassment ... And in the house of Elessar nonetheless!

Legolas could not get rid of his smile as he walked across the yard, inside, then toward his rooms. Even if he had not trained like the twins, he felt warm and sweaty. He'd ask for a cold bath and change his clothes. Maybe then he could go outside and find some peace in the gardens. Maybe Arwen was there. At least _she_ had common sense, unlike her brothers.

In the corridor just outside his door he walked into a maid in the house and politely asked for a bath being prepared. He felt tired today; it was good to have the service that Aragorn's large home offered. The maid looked rather flustered, nervous even, like she had never met an elf before and it was her greatest honour to be near one, speak to one. When she left, he smiled to himself. Really. Mankind thought so much of elves yet despised and feared them at the same time ... she belonged to the ones which looked up at them as higher, better creatures. In a way, it was annoying.

Someone had been in his chambers, opened the curtains and the windows and made the bed. The air was fresher. Yet when he entered the room, he suddenly had the feeling of being watched, like some shadow had crept inside the open windows, but there was no one here of course. Nothing. He sighed – he was being sensitive. He should relax ...

He searched the wardrobe and found some light clothing, and at the bottom a pair of shoes to change for his boots. When he had picked clothing, he found his way to the bathing chambers. The maid was there, laying a folded towel on a pallet. She looked up, then lowered her eyes and quietly left. Mankind ... they were a wonder. The servants rarely spoke. In Mirkwood, they served, yes, but they and the guards would dare to talk with others. Was the silence that maids and servants here taught or forced?

The water was slightly cold but it felt only good. He bathed quickly, then dressed and pulled the plug in the tub.

Outside it was as warm, but during the day the sun had moved so that the garden was half in shadow. This was not the balcony garden he had often wandered to before, but a slightly larger one below. There were two trees growing here; two quite small birches, young and slender. Their voices where light and full of curiosity; when he entered the garden they contacted him hesitatingly. Elves had not been here before.

He asked them of their well-fare, and they answered that they had been taken good care of by the gardeners of men; when they spoke they did so almost hesitatingly, slowly then fast, murmuring over their breath like children just taught how to speak and using their tongues for the first time. Language was rarely used by them, as no men spoke with them and they only had each other.

It was so peaceful here; he could have stayed here forever. The city's daily sounds faded away as he wandered around aimlessly, shutting out his mind only to be at this spot of green in the middle of a white stone. He was so deaf to he rest of the world, that he did not notice the presence of another until the person lay a hand on his shoulder, startling him by saying, "Never before have I found my son so off-guard. I almost started to wonder if something was amiss."

His father's voice broke his trail of thoughts. "Adar? You startled me," Legolas said, greeting his father.

Thranduil laughed softly. "So I noticed."

Actually, it gladdened him to catch his son off-guard; that meant that Legolas was relaxing, and he needed that. It had been a stressful time. And it also meant, he yet had some of the warrior yet in himself – it was not every day he could manage sneaking upon his son!

Legolas gave his father a sideway look. "Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not, little leaf. How could I ever do such a thing?"

Catching the teasing glint in his father's eyes, Legolas humphed and tried his best to give him a glare, but the tugging corner's of his lips betrayed at seriousness. "So, I take it you searched all over the palace, just to find me and start teasing. The first thing I need ..."

Thranduil laughed again and embraced him. "Right now, I believe that I am the only thing you need. Right, son?" It was a long time ago since he had actually spent time with his son. For once, Legolas was at ease, as was he himself. "I did not have to search the whole palace for you, 'Las, for a bird came to me whispering in my ear that an extremely beautiful golden elf was heading this way."

Legolas joined his laugh with his own, their voices' only contrast the tone of age, giving away one was much older than the other. "Now you only flatter me, adar."

"Is not a father allowed to flatter his son?" Thranduil broke their embrace but still stood close, and it reassured Legolas in a way – he suddenly felt in need to be with his father, near him, for comfort, or just for the sake of his presence; but he was not in need of protection. "I think it privileged to only me, at the moment, I am your father after all. And telling by the look on your face, I think I must do so very much more often."

Their sounds of mirth died away into the peaceful silence of the garden. The two trees nearby swayed ever so slightly in the wind, leafs rustling. Thranduil laid an arm around his son's shoulders. "Let us find somewhere to sit," he suggested. "All this teasing has made your old father tired, ion."

Legolas gave his a smile. "Old already? Thinking so cannot be good for your health, ada! Just look at you!"

Thranduil walked with him over to the grass and sat down, the younger elf beside him. Above them, the sun shone; though the high bushes around the garden's walls gave them some shade. "Respect your elders, 'Las. I hope the lessons you had are yet easy to remember. Maybe spending time with that dwarf has influenced you too much."

Legolas laid back on the grass, stretching out his arms and his legs trying to hide a yawn. He felt so swelled around his stomach; he was aware of his father's shifting gaze from his face to his pregnant belly and then back to his face again. His father's thoughts must be shifting as well ... And right now, he was absolutely in no mood to talk about his pregnancy.

"So, you have heard of Gimli now then?" he asked, changing the topic before it was brought up. Oh Eru, what if his father had not only heard of Gimli, but met - _confronted - _him as well? Just what he needed then. Maybe it was a very bad topic.

But his father did not seem angry, only a bit unsettled but then he shook his head smothering out the frowns on his brow. "Aye, I have. He was ... surprising."

"How so?" Legolas wanted to know. He shifted to lay more under the shades of the foliage; even though he had just washed, he was beginning to grow warm again.

"Well, it was many things, actually. I met him today morning; it was an unexpected encounter."

"Please say you did not kill him."

His son's remark caused him to laugh. "I did not! Only almost. In turn he tried to kill me as well, one could say. The first thing he said was something too evil for my ion's innocent ears to hear-"

"Adar, stop childish me so all the time! Must you do so every time it starts to grow interesting?"

Thranduil ignored this, but responded to Legolas mock glare with a grin. "-All right then. He wished to defend his father and people's honour and began rambling on that it was my fault, all my fault, what had happened." He paused for a moment. "It was I that imprisoned the dwarves in Mirkood's cellars, aye, but it _was_ _their_ fault they came sneaking in the first place. Had they simply told of their reasons I would have let them go! I tried to tell the son of Glóin this but he refused to believe that it could be someone else's than my fault."

"I know. He can be rather stubborn; do not let his short statue betray you."

"No joking, are we," Thranduil answered. "If it was anyone to blame, it is Mithrandir, who sent those dwarves in the first place."

"So, what happened then? Did you and Gimli simply take your good byes?" Legolas said, urging his father to continue. Adar's story sounded interesting; he had only known that his father's reaction to the dwarf would_ most probably_ be with anger, annoyance, irritation, or something else like that.

"Oh no, we didn't," Thranduil said. "We were both too energetic and stubborn to do that. In the end, out topic shifted from that unfortunate day so many years ago in Mirkwood, to various events concerning elves and dwarves – anything to argue about. We ended up discussing and arguing in the middle of a large hallway – oh, how many glances did not people passing by give us?" He shook his head trying to contain his laughter and Legolas could not read the expression on his face, though his tone was both amused and held seriousness. "It would be too tiresome to retell out whole conversation now, leaf. But when I mentioned the Golden Woods and the lady, something changed in him ... like his mood was not as foul anymore, and his tone ... Can you explain this, 'Las?" In truth, Gimli's sudden change of demeanor had put him off-guard for a second.

Legolas gave his father a curious look. It almost sounded like the elven king and Gimli had come to settle on some agreement. It was a wonder his father's mood was not as foul as Gimli's had been then, if their morning had been so busy. His father could not always hold his tempers in check were he insulted and Gimli had been in dangerous territories this morning, no doubt. Legolas smirked. "I could say I do." He lowered his voice some. He would not tell his father yet of his friends ... devotion ... to the White Queen, not yet, it would offend and possibly anger his father and embarrass Gimli to no end. But, Thranduil would not take nothing as an answer.

"On our journey's with the Fellowship, we traveled through Lothlórien. Ai, how fair the woods are there! It had a hard trip, we were yet weary and tired after Mithrandir's fall in Moria. The fair forests gave me some peace when we arrived, at least until we all found ourselves stopped by the tips of elven arrows. We were greeted cautiously by the marchwarden, Haldir, with his brothers and their patrol. I believe they must not have recognized me at first, until we had a moment to speak before entering Calas Galadhon.

Gimli was in awe. I think he was in awe longer than he told us later; it was on the day when we were to leave the Golden Woods as we finally understood that he must have smothered some of the sharp edges between our races.

Gimli and I started to accept each other in Lothlórien, slowly. We spoke and wandered around on the endless days in the woods, during which I ceased calling him 'the dwarf' and him me 'the elf' – at last we had enough nerve to call each other by name. I surprised myself by wanting to learn him. Become his friend." Legolas paused and glanced over to watch his father's reaction. There was surprise in his eyes, even a little shock, but Thranduil said nothing. Legolas was starting to grow a little uncomfortable; he rather not have his father having a fit at the moment.

"When we left Lothlórien, we were given gifts. I was given my beautiful bow, by the fair Lady herself – but what I remember clearest was when she turned to Gimli to ask what he would wish. She said: 'What would a dwarf ask from the elves?'. It was a shock when he wanted no weapon or gem, but a golden strand of Lady Galadriel's hair."

His voice quietened and he saw his father's eyes widen. Of course, he had been surprised too, back then, as the other elves – some had even protested. But Gimli had been devoted to have that lock of hair, to treasure it and remember it. Back then, it had seemed so strange, so impossible, unheard of. Now, Legolas did not doubt a word Gimli had said to the Lady. He had proven to be a dear friend. He wondered how Thranduil would reacted if he had said that ...

"I am more and more surprised," Thranduil said. "Did she grant his wish?"

"Aye; and more yet, she gave him three, not one, locks."

Thranduil's gaze diverted, looking at the sky for a moment. The sun had moved west, towards evening. "The world is changing, indeed. Maybe dwarves and elves one day even make a task of the impossible and live side by side."

Legolas could not help but smile an amused smile, for what had he not done these last months? Heavens, at most times, Gimli had acted like his mother hen! "Aye, indeed."

Time passed by. This time, silence settled again, but not uncomfortably. When the sun was even further down, where they could no longer spot it through the bushes from where they sat, Thranduil started to stand and dusted his robes off. "I am curious of your travels, Legolas. I have not heard much yet, beside from the obvious. Will you tell me? We can go to your rooms if you'd like."

Legolas hid a sigh. So now he would tell his father. It would take hours, he knew, and they would not finish today. But he supposed he had to. It would sooth his father, and himself. 'But it does not yet mean I have to mention all details,' he thought. 'He needs not to know of Éomer yet.'

"Help me up, ada?" he asked. He felt he had the privilege to be a little lazy. During the latest month, he felt also bigger and bigger around his stomach. Oh god, at full twelve, he'd not be able to move did it continue like this. His father helped him to his feet and offered his arm, which Legolas could not refuse. Together they walked inside, hearing a faint good bye from the trees behind them before entering the building.

Once back in Legolas' chamber, they sat down and Legolas began his tale; starting from the day at the council of Elrond and the creation of the Fellowship. His father did not interrupt, neither to comment or judge, nor did he prompt him to begin from the day he disappeared from Mirkwood. It relaxed Legolas some. At least he had not to start from the most painful events – he did not have to tell of when he felt alone, heartbroken, his grief casting a shadow of his former self. When he had arrived to Imradis he had regained most of his health and mind, though he yet then had been slightly pale and lost weight enough to gain one comment or two from the twins.

He told of the days in the beginning, endless hours of walking, crossing Hollin, reaching the mountains. He told of when they failed to pass Caradhas, being forced into the lacing depths of Moria's darkness. Thranduil saw him visibly shiver at that point, and held him in a loose embrace; Legolas had a hard time to fight the tears suddenly, as he recalled and told of the battle there, the Balrog, Mithrandir's fall – how alone they were, helpless and without hope, without a leader. Even Aragorn, chosen by the wizard to be their leader if he died, had lost hope then, and they had been so weary when they reached Lothlórien, to rest under the golden leaves of mallorn.

Thranduil listened intensely. He saw both grief, happiness, amusement and pain in his son's eyes flashing by as he told his story. Time passed by even if Legolas did not tell any stretched version of the events. Valar, during all this time, he had been so worried and angry – in Mirkwood half-believing Legolas was dead, his other half knowing Legolas was out there, somewhere, and he had wanted to have his son back so very much. He had actually wondered if the marriage was wrong then, if that had pressured Legolas into fleeing – and those thoughts had proven to be right. If not for the marriage, the Fellowship, or the Ring, everything could have been so very different ...

It still hurt in Legolas' chest when he told about their leaving from the Golden Woods, when they traveled the Andúin, and the battle when Boromir died. He knew not much of the man's death; how he died, what wounds he had suffered from ... He had heard his horn, but had come too late. Aragorn was there already, head bent in grief; the son of Gondor was already lost, and the hobbits Merry and Pippin were gone, taken by the orcs.

Suddenly he could not continue anymore. The pain he had felt back then hit him like a rock and suddenly, he felt so tired. Thranduil felt his son tense in his arms, then Legolas yawned and relaxed. "I'm tired, ada. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I believe it is time for a certain elfling to be put to bed ..."

Legolas sighed a frustrated sigh. "Ad_aaa _..."

"Now there, do not whine so. And yes, I _am_ your father, little elfling." As they were already sitting on the bed, he just helped to remove his son's tunic and boots and untie the braids in his hair, before pushing his son to lie down. Thranduil pulled up the covers to Legolas' chin. He did not leave, though; he put out the oil lamp on the bedside table and only the opened door provided the room with light.

"Now when you have provided me with a story, I will tell you one as well." Thranduil grabbed the book he had seen earlier here, glancing over to see his son grin. "May I just ask you one question, sleepy one? Where did you find this?" he asked, holding up the old copy of _Pennas o Odolumb_.

"In the libraries, old one ... or, mayhap, you are too old ... to remember that there are books in libraries ..." Legolas yawned.

Thranduil laughed softly. "Respect your elders, little leaf. Now, you wish me to read you a story, yes? Then behave ..."

"Yes, ada."

Thranduil smiled and give his son a kiss on the cheek. "Good." So he opened the book and began his story telling, completely in Sindarin; it was an old short story, one about a deer and a rabbit. For a young elfling it was fascinating and exciting, though for both Thranduil and Legolas it was simply amusing and sweet.

Legolas let the words wash over him, for he knew it already by heart. Subconsciously he thought that one day, he would be sitting by the bedside of _his_ child and tell that story too ...

This felt like a moment centuries ago, between father and child when Legolas was five and truly believed that the deer and the rabbit truly existed and did the same things like in the book. But now he was no child anymore. Sometimes, like now, Thranduil missed the small elfling, his little leaf that had been so young and free, careless even, not knowing of the world's troubles ... That was so long ago, when Legolas had been small and naïve, had never seen any wars – if not for those damned dreams, he would been a child so much longer ...

_-*-_

Small, cold. They fell from the sky slowly, ever so slowly, like twinkling stars, covering the ground in white, pure white. During the night snow had fallen heavily and it lay like a thick blanket over the landscape. A twelve-year-old elfling awoke to the most beautiful sight ...

... And dashed right out of the door, ignoring both the guard's laugh and his father's call.

"Shoes!"

Snow was rare even this time of year, but had one been a bird and looked from far high abov, the stretching forests would be nigh invincible, only the treetops seen like dark dots in the whiteness.

The small elfling left tiny footprints where he went, for an untrained eye not even seen. With tiny pale hands he reached out and grabbed a snowflake that fell, then melted against the heat of his skin. He gave a cry of joy, and did not bother that only a linen shirt too big for him was all he wore, barely protecting his young body from the cold. Laughter floated out from one of the buildings. The sight was one longed for, an elfling in the snow.

Legolas danced.

"_Nana, ada,_ come out, come out! It's snow! Hurry!"

Elenorne came from the main gate of the palace, laughing at her son's antics. When he laid down in the white, she pulled him up again; she was ready for snow-play like always, and adorned with socks and layered clothing. He protested wildly when she dressed him warmly. Already his cheeks were rosy.

"Let go, _nana_! Snow will go away if we don't play soon!_Please_!"

Elenorne let him go, and Legolas forgot at once the how irritating his _naneth_ had just been and that he did not like this jacket at all. Snow fell in his face, small flakes stuck in his hair. The ground glimmered. He pulled at his mother's clothing and eagerly put up a snow fight with her – pausing in his tracks when he heard _adar's _steps. They were ever so silent, but Legolas had early listened after footsteps and heard his parents' well enough. Their presence also changed all the others in a room, everybody got quieter and tenser like they wanted to make a better impression. He often felt whenever his father was present or not.

Legolas dropped the current snowball and it melted together with the white ground below. The elfling cared not for the snowball anymore, as he ran toward his father.

"Ada, ada, you're late!"

Thranduil laughed. "Of course I am not late, elfling dear! I simply took my time."

Legolas hugged his legs and frowned. "But ... that's being late!" Then he hurried into the snow again, eagerly calling for them.

He grabbed two handfuls of snow and threw them over himself, and it fell down like white rain over his golden head. There was no single care in the world.

Elenorne kissed her husband's cheek. "I think our little one beat you again," she murmured, amused.

Thranduil kissed her back.

Legolas giggled. His hair was as much white and his clothing was not much better.

"Come on! Don't be late twice!"

At once, Thranduil dashed out and grabbed a handful of snow, playfully throwing it. Legolas ducked easily away, but could not escape from the hug that Thranduil attacked him with. So much energy - Legolas always had that when he dashed around the halls, or rather, outside the halls. Now was no exception. Legolas shrieked with laughter as Thranduil tickled him.

"_Ada, ada_, put me down! Stop! _Nana_, tell _ada_ to be nice!"

"Hear, hear!" Elenorne laughed. "Dear Thranduil, I believe he has listened to us more than we believed. Would the king approve of his wishes?"

Thranduil laughed and haltered his 'punishment' of the elfling. Legolas' cheeks were rosy and his small hands starting to grow cold.

"I believe it is time to go inside," he said, hugging the elfling close.

Legolas protested but Thranduil would not let him, and did not put him down either. He carried the elfling inside.

"But," he continued with a wink toward his wife, who smiled as he continued; "if you are a good elfling, we may go outside and build a snow-elf later. How does that sound, dear little leaf?"

Legolas clapped his hands, his hair tousled when his mother pulled off his cap and Thranduil started to unlace his folded tunic attached to it.

"Yes! I want to build snow-elves! Me's being a good elfling!"

Thranduil was not in the mood to correct him today, it would sour Legolas' good mood. Today, he did not want to be king. He simply wanted to be Thranduil with his family, wonderful family. It was not often, since Doron's death, that Legolas was in this good mood. Better laughing and incorrect that silent and sad.

As soon as he was released Legolas slid onto the ground and dashed for the dining halls. The cooks and servants were preparing the breakfast, and they laughed at his antics. Yet he was not tall enough to reach far above their waists and he dashed through the halls, almost tripping someone over and calling an excuse over his shoulder. When Thranduil and his wife arrived to the dining halls, Legolas was on his chair bouncing. The pair had a feeling this day would be filled with chaos.

"You're late!"

Thranduil lifted his hands and defended himself. "Not at all, my little leaf! I am not late. That is totally another thing." In fact, they had simply been a few seconds behind their elfling.

Legolas burst out at this: "But you took your time!"

_-*-_

... But now, his elfling had grown up and seen wars, battles – such things that he never wanted his elfling to see – and become wiser, older. His elfling was even about to have his own little one and in a way it was scaring thought, at the same time Thranduil had never before felt this proud. His son was a miracle. After Elenorne's death, so long ago, Thranduil had never thought that he could raise his child alone. Legolas was so young then, not understanding death or that it meant she would never come back. He had been so quiet and withdrawn, even more so than when he lost his brother. Thranduil had been mad at himself, his every though laced with doubt. He thought he had been dying. Only for his son he returned to his life and realized he had to live for his elfling, be happy with him, raise him.

He was convinced that Legolas would be a great parent and this unborn child he carried would be warm at heart and shining just like his son. He hoped that.

Thranduil kissed the sleeping elf's temple, before he rose and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving Legolas sleeping in peaceful warm dreams. Legolas slept unhindered through the night.

_----_

Pippin and Merry considered themselves the best pranksters in the whole Shire, and titled themselves the Prank Kings, and that was even when 'prankster' was not a word. Would it be any difference here, just because they were in a city of strange men and other creatures? Nay, they wouldn't allow that. They had come to a deal with the sons of Elrond the other day – they were free without any rules, except no one getting seriously hurt, and pranks were on.

They were both mad and delighted by the fact that the elves had started the game by the old bucket-of-water trick, getting the two hobbits instantly wet the moment they opened the door. Now was time for revenge, and revenge was sweet. Pippin thought about asking advice on good pranks – something new they hadn't tested before - from someone, but not Gandalf, absolutely not. The wizard would either be displeased or laugh: he was quite unsure which would be his reaction. So now Pippin was on his way to find Merry. Sneaked, rather. Every time they came to a door they eyed it suspiciously, inspecting it with most care and then opening it slowly. It was safer that way – who knew where buckets may be hidden, and not all of them containing water either?

Now it was a fine early day, about ten o'clock. The weather was fine, but of course that was not in their attention today.

"Purple. We should colour their hair purple – or red - surely there must be some fruit juice or something we can use," Pippin suggested quietly to his cousin, who first gave him a snort and a look that told him how stupid he must be, before Merry also realized that the idea was good and he liked it.

"But how, and when? A bucket?"

Pippin frowned. "Maybe in their sleep. We borrow some herbs from the healers, you know, to get them sleeping - and when they wake up ..."

They could almost not hold their laughter. Mischievous glints appeared in their eyes. Surely that wouldn't hurt anybody. Maybe the twins' pride ... hopefully the colour would be gone by the time of the wedding. But Aragorn would understand, wouldn't he? They were his half-brothers, after all.

Merry pulled at his cousin's arm. "Come, let's go!"

"Where are we going?" asked Pippin, looking dumbfounded.

Merry rolled his eyes. "To find the healers, of course! We're going to pretend you have problems getting to sleep and ask for something that makes you sleep."

"Why me, why not _you_?" asked Pippin incredulously.

His cousin sighed and pulled him on. "Just do as I tell you, all right! It's for the twins, after all."

"Fine ... But next time it's your turn!"

_----_

In another part of the city, two other makers of mischief were planning their next attack. The topic of their conversation was fitted rather more for fifteen year old elflings than adult elves. But in fact, the two discusser's were adult elves. The two tall, dark-haired brothers sat on a white brick-wall outside the part of the palace appointed to the elves from Imradis living here for a time in Minas Tirith. The elder, by some minutes or so, was leaning against white stone with his right knee drawn up, while the other sat in front of him, legs swung over the wall casually, tapping with his fingers against the stone impatiently. Both wondered what the hobbits were up to. Surely they must be up to something by now.

Already they were making plans for attacking their poor victims again. They had to watch, of course. This little pranking war was official only for the hobbits and themselves, as far as they knew. If their father came to realize what was going on, and that his sons were very involved in it, they were very, very dead. They were supposed to behave after all, they were in a guest's house ... city.

"Behave, what's the word supposed to mean?" they had asked, playfully, but only earned a sharp look and a tired frustrated sigh – Elrond was getting tired of their behavior, why did he of all people in the world have to raise twins? As if one had not been bad enough. Why could they not have been proper, well-behaved, and actually _listen _to him?

Elrohir still hadn't forgiven his brother for tickling him. Elladan was still blaming him for the punch that his brother had aimed around a very personal area of his. So now they were sitting over a meter from each other, a rare thing to be them. But being so close to each other they could feel each other's thoughts without taking too much of their energy. This allowed them to converse unheard and plan in a most secret manner. The hobbits had no idea. Being born as telepathic twins always gave them an advantage, especially when only Elrond, a few of their household and Legolas could tell them apart.

"_We could hide something very slimy and stinky in their beds or on their chairs."_

"_Why not attack them at once, drop it on their heads or fill something with it? Pity they don't have any shoes. Surely that's a better plan, brother. Remember last time? And there are a lot of balconies here ... "_

"_Ada will kill us, remember last time do you!"_

"_But sneak attack, we can do that! When nobody else is close by, at least no elf. Then it's free to go. Ada will never know."_

"_But they'll see us, surely."_

"_What, are you a coward? The whole point is us against them. And how many other candidates are there except us, by the way?"_

His brother glowered at him. "_I am no coward!"_

"_Of course not, Miss. Sorry, I forgot."_

He stood and bowed, pretending to sweep a hat off. This snapped for his brother, who gracefully came to his feet and hit him loosely across the temple. Their mental conversation broke to a voiced one.

"Hey, no punching!"

"Oh but wailing isn't going to help you now, broth-_ ..._eh, little sister, I mean," Elladan teased and then started to tickle him. The elves would not fall off the wall, their footing was sure enough.

There was a cough behind them. "And what is this?"

At once, Elladan stopped his torturing; his brother was glaring at him and then hiccupped, earning a curious look and a raised eyebrow. The answer was a warning punch in his stomach. Elladan quickly stood and jumped to the ground. His brother remained sitting at a safe distance.

"Oh, nothing _ada_. We were just ... talking!"

"I see," Elrond said and mentally sighed and shook his head. At least they were not planning a heart attack for the poor servants here, he thought relieved at hearing no words about pranking uttered. "Well then. I trust you two to stay put, at least for the time being. Please, just behave. If you really must strangle each other, leave for your chambers. We do not wish to embarrass ourselves in front of Estel's men – and especially not on my behalf. Am I making myself clear?"

The brothers nodded simultaneously. "Yes, _ada_."

When Elrond left, he did not believe it very much. He should put his guards around those two. He used to, actually, until he once found their life-guard bound and gagged, and even before he was free he had guessed which two elves were to blame. When would they grow up? It was a scaring though that those two would actually rule Imradis once he sailed with many of his people. The twins wished to stay, as long as Estel lived – of course. He was their brother in every way except through blood.

Seeing their father leave with the rustle of robes, the twins breathed a sigh of relief. That was close. Good with telepathy, they both agreed. Elladan turned to his brother. "So, any ideas yet,_Miss_?"

Elrohir got an overwhelming urge to throw something at him. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh, but I'm no coward, Mi-" His was cut off by his brother, who had landed on the ground, and bowed and tried to make himself like a real gentleman.

"Oh, I am sorry_, my lady_ – I had no idea!"

----

"Hurry, hurry! I've got it!"

Two halflings ran down the corridor, one of them holding a pouch in his hands. It had taken some time, pursuance and a voice edging at whining tiredness, but eventually the healers had given him the drug – it was harmless, it had no effects other than a deep sleep for some hours. Hopefully those hours would be enough. On the way to the healers they had argued endlessly on how to drug the elves – put some in their wine, their food? Maybe sneak into their rooms and put two glasses of water and the drug there, then pretending as nothing and hope that the elves thought it was a servant who had put the glasses there?

First they hurried to Merry's room to discuss in private how to drug them. They had on their way also talked about colours, and found this very, very yellow flower. There were lots of it, the flowers – mix them with water and some other ingredients, and this could work.

"I'd always wanted to see how they'd look as blonde," Merry joked. They had not picked any flowers yet, though. Maybe there was something else they could use as well, just to test if it worked ...

This prank was not entirely new to them. The first them they used it was in the Shire, long ago when Pippin was only about twenty years old – bored during a rainy day, they decided to attack Fatty Bolger. The hobbit had no idea what was going on until he opened a door and a bucket fell down over him, leaving him with shockingly red hair and clothing. Afterwards they managed not to get caught – by an inch or so. That time they had used mashed strawberries mixed with ink and various other ingredients they had gotten their hands on. But flowers wouldn't be such a bad option, right? They hoped so. Or they could use fruits. Anyway, the elves' hair would at least change somewhat, and that was the whole point.

"Make them suffer a little!"

"Now don't be so bad. You know what Gandalf says ... " Pippin teased him.

"Gandalf? What say Gandalf? He'd just stop us, and have us ..."

"... washing the dishes. Maybe that was a bad idea!"

But the twins had a lot more hair. Not as much as Legolas of course, their hair only reached some inches below their shoulders, but yet, it was a lot more hair. They decided to split up to search for flowers and other strongly coloured things to use, hiding the sleeping herbs behind a book on the small shelf next to the bed. Later, they would have a 'drinking competition' with the elves – faking of course, so they wouldn't get intoxicated themselves – and put some of the drug in the elves' ale or wine. Perfect.

"Meet here in ..." Merry paused to think, giving Pippin a chance to speak.

"An hour, all right?"

_--_

It was a fine morning; unlike two days ago, the sun shone not as strongly. By the training field, men and elves where training, at other places, men working, but most of those had taken off their shirt to reveal burned flesh and red screaming skin, clearly telling them that one could get too much sunshine.

Legolas, though, felt like he could not get enough of sunshine. He felt cold today, and had slept uneasily that night, mostly because he had missed his father's presence that had been there the evening before. He had not seen Éomer today. Maybe he was at some meeting. Aragorn was nowhere in sight. Gimli was with the dwarves. His father ... well, his father was his father. He asked a servant, who informed him that the elven king had left an hour before dawn in company with Lord Elrond. Where to, no one could tell.

He went to visit the garden with the two birches again. They were excited at seeing him and babbled mercilessly, mostly of things he did not understand. They did not understand everything of what he said either.

_'What is an itch?' _one of them asked, when he sat under one to get some shadow and murmured to them that he had a terrible itch on his back.

He felt it hopeless to explain, for he knew not if they would understand anyway. They were so young yet. And he was not in the mood. Simply as that. Mostly he just wanted to find Éomer, but did not wish to ran around the palace like a madman or comb through the city after him. No, Éomer would have to find him. After all, if he was not in his room, he would be in one of the gardens ...

Then he felt soft, ever so soft, footsteps and he stood. The footfall was too light to belong to a Man, so it had to be an elf. But when he turned towards the nearest entrance he was greeted by shock. A blonde elf came toward him quickly and Legolas felt his defenses raising. But Glorfindel did not lash out; he did not even stop.

"I apologize. Sorry."

One short whisper in his ear as Glorfindel passed by, that was all. Then the golden haired advisor and warrior crossed the garden and left by the other entrance. Above him, the trees again started to chatter in confusion.

Legolas ignored them – he could not explain for them what the other elf meant or why he said so. He had expected Glorfindel to be more than angry, if they met – after all, many of the other elf's plans must have come crushing down when Thranduil broke their marriage. But his father ... his father had told him that Glorfindel was forbidden to go near him, 'until his anger had settled', as his father had said. Was Glorfindel apologizing sincerely, or did he say it so shortly and abruptly now because he could not be seen in Legolas' presence? Legolas did not know; he could not answer that.

_~Itch?~_

_~Cannot be. Listen to him. Ask him, rather, it'd do you good, to know that, this, you know, the itch he spoke about. And they said sorry. He did, I mean, get me confused sometimes, do not really know how it feels. How to feel, do you know what I mean, I ... How does an itch feel like?~_

_~Listen to him, if you wish, and ask, but I do not understand, I mean, he does not speak, I speak, but he does not, I am left confused. What did he mean?~_

_~ I do not know I said! Ask him, I said, I told you, ask him about the itch! Sounds like yrch-work, the itch, like yrch I say, ask ... ~_

The young trees were also confused, but for another matter entirely. When they felt that Legolas was not occupied by other matters, they turned their young voices to him. They spoke quickly now, in a speed which no elder tree and absolutely no Ent would like. In a way, they reminded him of giggly teenagers; Estel was this always as young, except he never stood as still ... Legolas sighed. How to explain this? They asked about everything!

_~Everything is so much, so large, like Fanghorn, oh, if only we lived in Fanghorn~ _one birch said.

_~The other elf, who was he, he was no wood-elf, like you he did not touch out minds most like he felt different?~_ the other tree's voice asked in his mind, all sentences blended together to one question.

_~Aye, that was Glorfindel, the Balrog-Slayer, who lives in Imradis~ _he answered, taking seat on the grass again. The trees enjoyed to be near him and never seemed to tire. Not a single tree in Mirkwood had ever been full of this ever-going energy, at least not in talking – maybe they were catching up what they had missed without any elves' presence.

_~When he apologized, I wonder, why, why did he do so, I do not really understand what it all means with apologizingtopeopleImeantosorryI-~_

Legolas laughed now. No, these two were not giggle teenagers – they were maddening children! And he liked it at the same time he wanted to get rid of it. How could this be that they talked so much, if they had lived in the silence of men? _~Calm down, calm down! Slow your voices, I can barely hear you speak.~_

The other birch spoke now. _~We asked if he meant what he meant and what he meant when he said he apologized I mean was sorry or was it both?~_

Legolas blinked. The words had passed by rapidly and it took a second for him to understand what the birch meant at all, and to think of an answer took another second, before he spoke up. It still surprised him that none of the trees had felt, or indicated to have felt, the child growing inside of him. Maybe they were too young yet to understand; but he was not sure.

_~He ... apologized ... because of a misunderstanding between us. But do not trouble yourselves with that; it cannot be interesting at all. How fares you two today?~_ He was a bit intrigued who was the gardener here. It would be very interesting to meet this person and see his or her face if he told that the trees were chatting happily about, mostly, everyday nonsense. Legolas laughed softly again, his laugh fading to a chuckle. He closed his eyes, leaning against the trunk of the nearest tree.

_~Good, the gardener's very nice, that is good, yes, before was this darkness we couldn't get rid of and it troubled us~_

_~Aye, it was dark, I agree, but – wait I think someone is coming, am I right no, that feels not right, that is not an elf ... ~_

The birch was right; he heard footsteps, heavier this time. A Man. Legolas opened his eyes; then his face broke into a smile when he saw a very familiar man by the entrance of the garden, looking over the lushness like searching for something. At the moment though, his eyes were not turned toward the corner where Legolas sat but rather at the other end.

"Éomer!"

The man turned around; and he smiled as well. "Legolas, I have been looking for you." In quick strides he crossed the garden and came to kneel next to the elf.

"So I see," Legolas chuckled, both amused by Éomer and the birches chattering – they could not stop babbling, and especially not when the man moved closer the elf. Éomer pressed a chaste kiss upon the elf's lips, taking the advantage of being alone. Legolas murmured something into his ear, making the man glance up at the trees, then around the garden. Again the kissed the elf, deeper this time, like drinking from Legolas' lips.

"Éomer, Éomer, we cannot - out here! Someone might ... see us!"

Éomer pulled away, smiling; Legolas smiled back, despite to the fact he had just protested. "I just came to say hello. And, there is no one close by ..." He pressed one hand gently onto Legolas' swollen belly, the other on the elf's slightly flushed cheek, before he leaned in for yet another kiss. Legolas did not protest this time, and he found that his body would not cooperate, his tongue not obey ...

But it felt good to be with Éomer again. Really good. Éomer was so close to his face now, their breathed each other's breaths. Then, suddenly, Éomer stopped, his lips barely touching Legolas' . The baby kicked again; Legolas stretched skin fluttered beneath his clothing, making the man gasp at the sensation.

"Legolas ..."

"I know. You must have woken him from his slumber," Legolas murmured softly. "Shall we go inside?" '_We need to talk_,' he thought._ 'Not kiss or touch, but talk. Before the wedding we must know what to do ...'_

Éomer looked at him for a moment. "Why not stay here? We are alone ..."

Legolas smiled softly but looked away when the man leaned in for yet another kiss. They moved so fast in their relationship that it was almost scaring. "Not now," he murmured. "We need to talk, Éomer. In private." Again he glanced up at the birches.

Éomer sighed but agreed and helped him to his feet._'Talk? Whenever we meet, you wish to only talk, my heart_ ...' he thought silently, but said; "Come, we can go to my chambers. Are you hungry, thirsty? We could share a meal together; the service is good here and we can ask a servant."

There was no reason to protest, though Legolas declined food or wine. He needed to know of Éomer's thoughts. They walked side by side but silent to Éomer's chambers. They were not so unlike his own, except there was a small hearth by the far end of the room and there was another door by the corner, probably leading into a second chamber, wardrobe or bathroom. Legolas did not explore the room, just sat down on one of the three cozy chairs in front of the unlit hearth, gesturing Éomer to sit beside him. They were still quiet. They knew not who to speak first or how to begin. At first they stared at one another, but then Éomer averted his gaze, the immortal's eyes so deep and piercing.

The silence settled deeper and it grew uncomfortable. Legolas shifted. His back ached, muscles protesting to the extra weight the child put on him.

"Well, I ..." Legolas began.

"Yes, I ..." Éomer said.

They both started to speak and their voices stopped simultaneously. This was unbearable. Legolas decided they rather start speaking now or they would sit here for years without saying a word. "What should we do now? Our relationship. We cannot hide it any longer. My father will soon probably urge me into marriage again; and you are a King of Rohan, you cannot stay here in Minas Tirith with me just because."

"Then come with me," Éomer suggested. It was an option. They _could _marry, raise Legolas' child together and even have family of their own blood. "We can marry, despite of what others might think ... I long to learn you, Legolas, it still feels as if we barely know one another even though we have spent time together." He spoke hesitatingly now. Hours in secret, in the gardens or corridors, they had been with each other; but it felt not enough. Legolas was immortal and he was barely scratching the surface of his life. They had shared a few stories from their lives and youth, but that was about it. "If we make out relationship public, we can speak openly. I need to be able to do that, Legolas. I need to know you before I can know how to truly love you." He voices both their thoughts.

Legolas heart skipped a beat, even though he had suspected this for a time and knew he wanted it, at least right now, as well. Éomer wished to marry him. Legolas knew not how the world would react, or his father would – would he be angry, happy or sad? After all, Éomer was a mortal. He would die, either by sword or by age, long before Legolas would; if Legolas ever did. Legolas looked up to see into the man's eyes and suspected he saw the same thoughts and fear there as well. "But something bothers you."_ 'It bothers me too,'_ he thought. _'Or maybe I should not care of it and love you anyway?'_

"You ... me ... We are different. You will live forever on after I've died." _'I do not want that; I do not wish to leave you in loneliness and pain after I've passed on.' _"Mayhap it is better if we part ways and you find an elf to marry-"

"No." Legolas said sternly, taking hold of Éomer's hands. The elf's fingers were strong and firm, signaling the man clearly that the elf would not let go. "I cannot leave you now. I have faced death before." He had barely escape with his life, but he had been alive nonetheless and was alive now. But it was even harder to have Éomer with another, that way unreachable – but yet so close. At least death was a clear 'No, he is gone now'. "Please, bother not with such thought now. Not yet."

His father would be so mad. Or would he? He was not so sure anymore, since his reaction at the child and the child's father.

Silence fell again.

"I wish to go to the feast with you," Legolas said suddenly. "The wedding of Elessar and Arwen. We could go together."

"As friends," Éomer wondered, "or as lovers?"

"Either one, whichever that pleases you," Legolas said. He still held the man's hands in a firm grip. "Though I would appreciate the last option, I fear for my people's reaction. Taking another lover so shortly after ... the death of Egil ..." At this his voice faltered a bit but the continued, "It would be seen as strange and offending, unless I seem to have chose to be with 'the right one' for me. Some can and will be offended, Éomer. Usually we elves have only one single lover in life."

"Are you saying we cannot be together and you have know this all the time?" Éomer demanded and stood. Legolas quickly pushed him back into his seat again.

"Calm down, Éomer. I did not mean it like that," Legolas said, his voice reassuring. "I only said it would not be the wisest option to suddenly come out in my people's, and my father's, presence. Or Glorfindel's," he added with a small sigh. The short abrupt meeting with the other elf in the garden still puzzled him. "I believe that at least the Mirkwood guards that followed my father here must now know that the father of my child is dead, and if I know them right, they would be pleased to hear that I have found a love and support. But you are a ..." He could not continue; he was offending the man by saying it.

"I am mortal and I am aware of that," Éomer sighed. "If only trouble come with us, then we should end this now."

Legolas' eyes flashed. "No! Not yet. I ... I am sorry my words are so blurry. I cannot decide what to do, for whatever we chose to do some people will be displeased." He slowly was losing his grip of the man's warm hands.

"Then we should do what is right and best ... I cannot wait any longer now," Éomer said. "Can you stay with me tomorrow? Spend time with me? I have no duties, it could be only you and me."

His words put Legolas' heart at ease though he grew suddenly nervous, wondering if Éomer meant to do what his words could imply. Then he shook himself mentally; Éomer and he could not do anything of _that_ yet, not until they were married, if they ever were. "I can, and aye, we could ... But we have not decided anything yet what matters the wedding ... I am confused, Éomer: I do not know what to do, and doubt what I feel ..."

Éomer silenced him with a sudden kiss. "Tomorrow. We can speak more tomorrow." He needed to think first – or maybe they were thinking too much?

----

This day was not, in any way, a fine day. Both half-elves awoke to a splitting headache. Their minds were foggy; what had happened last night? They had a drink. A couple of drinks. A competition. There'd been dwarves. And a hobbit, a dear, what a drinker that hobbit had been!By now they didn't even remember his name, though it must have been one of the Fellowship. Elrohir hadn't completed the first round, or at least, Elladan thought so. He was not so sure anymore and he hadn't really focused.

He awoke and stretched, rubbing his eyes and his temples. The headache lingered on; it was amazing what an effect human ale had. Ah yes, they had gotten over this bottle of Mirkwood wine as well ... very good, tasteful, but stronger than ada's wines, much like the taste of Mirkwood ...

Elladan felt strange, really. He felt ... _totally odd_. He combed his fingers through his hair and cast a look at the floor where his brother lay sprawled out on the floor – he was starting to wake up, groaning, his orange hair covering his face like some kind of ...

Elladan shot up like an arrow from the bed, eyes wide in shock, staring at his brother. _Orange. _

Orange?!

He was in the middle of crying out in shock when he started howling with laughter so it was a sound somewhere between.

Elrohir groaned. The whole room thundered around him. What the hell had happened? Was there a war going on and he had missed it? Damned oliphants – no wait, not oliphants – it had been him ... and drinking ... ai, Elladan! Elladan too! Damn all that wine!

What was going on then? Why in Arda was Elladan laughing like a madman?!

"Shut uuuup ..." Elrohir groaned and tried to reach for a pillow to cover his head with. Though on the floor, there was nothing but a rectangular old mat, which also proved to be dusty when he lifted it over his head.

Elladan's laughter continued; he fell doubled to the floor.

"Shut up! What's your damn'd problem?!" Elrohir cried, covering his ears and shutting his eyes tightly. He still heard that terrible loud noise and decided, it was enough. He opened his eyes and made a move to stand. Then froze dead in his tracks, ending up in in some kind of sprinter position like he was going to have a race, at seeing his brother; Elladan had rings under his eyes and his tousled hair stood everywhere. His long, tousled,_ awfully pink_ hair.

Now it was Elrohir's time to laugh, making Elladan to stop and groan, holding his head. "What's so bl'dy funny, bro'?"

"You ... you ... your hair! It's, it's ... !" Elrohir gasped between laughs, then coughed. The fact that his twin brother had just seconds before laughed into his face was a fading memory of his, and he had no idea why Elladan had laughed at him in the first place. Right now, he didn't care. "Rid'culous, bro'! Really!" he cried. "It's _pink_!"

Elladan's face screwed up and a very red blush started to spread over his cheeks, at hearing that. Then he quickly stood, and snatched the small mirror that lay on the desk. His eyes widened more at what he saw.

"Who dare to-"

Elrohir was coming to his feet, a bit wobbly, and patted his brother's back. "It's not that bad, bro', you actually look quite good. Suits you."

"Yeah, right. Then take a look at this!" Elladan forced the mirror into his brother's hands, turning it so that Elrohir was staring at his own reflection. With horror.

"ELLADAN! _What_ have you _done_!?"

Elrohir's upset voice made Elladan stumble backwards and fall back to the floor. "Me? I haven't done anything! For goddess' sake, LOWER YOUR VOCIE!" he screamed.

His brother, angry now, spun around – their both headaches got only worse and worse. The mirror went to the floor and they managed not to catch it. It did not break into a thousand pieces, only in half. The crash seemed to rush their senses and annoyance. "ELLADAN, ANSWER ME! RIGHT NOW!"

"STOP SCREAMING!"

"I AM NOT SCREAMING!"

With that, they started fighting; Elrohir gave Elladan no chance to come to his feet. There was hitting, biting, crying, screaming. Outside the door, two hobbits were snickering, though when they heard a lot of cursing and elvish, they guessed things might have gone a little too far. One of them cleared his throat.

"So ... time to clean up the mess?"

The other one hesitated, shaking his curly head. "They are going to kill us."

"Sure. You first!" With that, the hobbit knocked at the door, nudged it open with his foot, then grabbed his cousin's shoulders and guided him inside.

"But Merry! _No ..._ !"

Too late; the twins stopped and looked up, Elrohir on top pulling his brother's screamingly pink hair, Elladan about to strike his stomach. There was a bite mark on his hand. Merry coughed. Pippin blushed. The two hobbits tried to hide behind each other then, seeing the fury flash up in Elrohir's eyes.

"You two!" he demanded. "You two did this, didn't you, you ras-"

His brother interrupted him by clasping a hand over his mouth. "He's overreacting. Ouch!" he exclaimed when he was bitten.

"Overreacting! I am not overreacting!" He turned to give the hobbits a heated glare. He still hadn't let go of his brother's hair. "Explain! And how do we get rid of_ this_!?" He grabbed forcefully one of his own hair-locks in his fist, his brother's pink in the other.

"Eh, well..." Pippin stammered.

"We didn't really ..." Merry began.

"It is a pranking war! There was only one rule, right?!"

"Pip, I think it's safest to go now ..."

"We simply made it easier for people to tell you apart," Pippin said with a chuckle.

"_Pippin_! Let's _go NOW_!" Merry hissed, completely forgetting that he had too been there coming up with this idea. It was also quite fun. At least had been, until now. They shouldn't have gone in here! They were caught at once! And by the look of things, Elrohir would rip them into pieces. Were they unfortunate, so would Elladan.

"There were rules, _rules_!" Elrohir cried upset, while his brother yanked free from his grip. "Not hurting anybody!" At this, he also sent a heated glare at Elladan, who was blushing feverishly, before he returned to stare hard at the two halflings. "This is hurting somebody – me!"

"And me, or have you forgotten I exist," Elladan mumbled with a groan. His head pounded. He was absolutely sure, that when Ada found out – and he would – they were really, in every way, maybe even literally, very dead.

Merry shuffled a his feet. "Wasn't it at least a little, little, mini-little of fun?"

The twins did not answer that. Their hard eyes told enough. How on Arda could they explain this? And if the colours did not fade, sweet Eru, they'd show up at Estel's wedding like this!

Pippin only smirked a little. "Well, you asked for it."

Elrohir stared at him with wide eyes, unable to find something to say. Elladan turned groaning yet again, fell onto the bed, and buried his face in the pillow. His whole face was flushed all the way to the pointy tip of his ears.

Ada was so going to kill _them all. _

Slowly, the two hobbits starting backing away out of the door; Elrohir's glare flared and the halflings turned and fled. The elf was on their heels.

Those two rasca-, hobbits were doomed.

--

At another place hours later, hiding under the shadows of nightfall, was a rider fleeing over the open plains where he was so rode on hard, driving his steed almost mad and beyond tired; the horse frothed. When he had gone some miles from the city, it had started to rain – the fine weather obviously would not hold much longer. The weather fit to his mood. He was urgent to reach his Master, the man he hated so much but his whole life depended on him – right now very much. With his Master he would most probably be dead. And his Master also had promised - he had promised, to let him have what he deserved ...

When he reached the top of a hill, breaking off from the road, he stopped. Now he had just a small path to follow and then followed a bare trail, a trail which no one without very trained eyes could see. He had travelled this path twice before, though both times on foot. With a horse his speed was the greater but the terrain here was hard, once he reached the dark tangled forests.

He had to hurry. In safety beneath his cloak, in a pouch tied to his belt, lay the documents which his Master was in greatest need of.

It continued to rain as he left again, having rested for an hour or so. It was a travel that took over a week by foot, and he had only food with him for a travel of four days. It had to do. Time was flying.

The news of the Fellowship's departure, that they would soon leave Minas Tirith for a time to either visit someone or go home, drove him to desperation. Time was very dire now, if dwarves really were making their way here; per chance he had, when sneaking out from the palace the same way he got there, overheard a conversation with the son of Glóin and his friends. That could mean that the halflings – those cursed little beings – would be on their way to their little homeland soon after the wedding of Elessar and his elf-witch probably. Oh the fools! Did they really think that their small homes, gardens and holes in the ground, would be fair and fine when they reached them? Just like before? Did they really believe that they would be hidden forever.

There were risks too great though if the dwarves were moving; they could easily destroy the whole plan, peering into affairs that were not theirs. His Master would be displeased, to say the least.

By nightfall the rain had stopped falling. He was forced to rest, his horse refused to go any further. This both annoyed and relieved him, for he was tired also but also urgent. He sparely ate some of the food he had managed to get his hands upon – bread some days old, water from a spring – while the steed rested and ate. He did not sleep, though he crawled up on the ground in the shelter of a rock to relax his tired body for only a few moments.

He had to hurry. Impatience tugged at him, and again and again he told himself to relax and be patient. Patience was worth everything now ...


	34. Chapter 34

_**Author: **Humble apologizes to everyone and all, for the late update. But now, to the story. _

_**Notes**: You'll meet a character here you've met before, Beregond of Gondor. I did some research on him but never find out his wife's name or status or age or even if he had a wife (which he probably had, since he has two sons). I have his two sons' names though. But otherwise, I am making much of his history up, about his past, and I will try to make Beregond and all others in-character as much as possible (so I need to re-read a few chapters in the book I think!) ... Any OC is avoided as much as possible._

_This scene where he is in, the wedding scene, became _much _longer than I expected! The time might be confusing, but the wedding feast stretches over several hours, so it starts in the afternoon, around 3 o'clock. (Do they have clocks in Middle-Earth anyway? Weren't clocks invented during the 12th century or something?)_

_To you who don't know; Aglarond is another name for The Glittering Caves, Helm's Deep._

_(And the quote below is not from LotR, but from Pirates of the Caribbean. I could not help it, and it did fit here!)_

_(An afterthought: Does anyone read this at all?)_

_**Elvish:**_

_Taur-nu-Fuin – Mirkwood_

_Ion (nîn) – (my) son_

_Adar, ada – father, dad_

_Hadhod – dwarf_

_Namárië – Farewell (I hope I spelled it right; and I am unsure if this is Sindarin or Quenya, though I _think _it is Quenya more than Sindarin.)_

_**Reviews:**_

_wutman: Thanks for another review. Maybe this new evil isn't has new as first supposed ..._

_Ninfea di Luna: First I thought about yellow hair and that was actually the colour that the hobbits used but because the twins' hair are black, and the hobbits has no way to brighten the colour first, so the yellow was more a disaster turning to orange. And don't ask about the pink ^^ ... (a little shame I didn't write that scene, when they were having a drinking game and that!)_

_glostarz: Thanks!_

_mikinyet: I hope Éomer and Legolas works things out too. Well, it's kinda hard to write because there are all these people and things in the way and Legolas' guilt about Egil he got in the back of his head and all that. _

_DevilChile: Oh, the pain (of hair)! I believe Elrond is going to kill them ..._

_faith bonskie: Another reader! Thanks for the review. There are a lot of questions you ask, but maybe this chapter will give some answers, huh?_

**----**

**Chapter 34**

**----**

"_Weddings, I love weddings! Drinks all around!"_

**----**

The day held sunshine and wisps of white clouds, a lucky day as well as lucky weather. Even though it was afternoon the day was clear and the air light. The kitchen staff had been preparing the meal and the feast for hours, and put guards around the area. They had decided to have the feast in the open, below the sun. Many were invited, and people were gathering on the streets to celebrate as well and wish the King and his Wife-to-be luck.

Just before dawn, at the breaking of light in the horizon, elves from Lothlórien had arrived. Their shimmering silhouettes had been spotted by the guards in the towers in the city, and they had quickly alerted the King, who was joyous. One of the reasons for waiting to today to marry Arwen was to wait for these elves – not many remained or would remain in Lothlórien now when the War was over. They would make it for the Gray Havens.

Lord Celeborn had been riding first, and next to him, Lady Galadriel, she who shone like the sun and people stared at her in awe, like they stared in awe at any other elves here. She was lighter and stronger, like she was make from an even higher power. She could not miss this wedding; she was the mother of Celebrían who had given birth to Arwen, after all. Her granddaughter must have only the perfect husband.

Legolas had dressed in silver-blue today, and braided his hair in an easy style that marked him as a warrior, matching the sky and the sunlight. On top of his golden locks he wore the slim circlet that like he had at Aragorn's coronation. He had not seen Aragorn yet but he had spotted Arwen with her brides from Imradis and Lothlórien, and she shone like the sun and had never looked so happy before. And excited and nervous, of course.

He felt also nervous. He had spoken yesterday with Éomer, and together they had decided to make their relationship public today. Not any wedding or so - but it felt right now close enough. He was unsure if Éomer wished to be his betrothed or not, and did not know if he wished it today. They had waited for weeks and Éomer said he no longer wanted to hide – as much as they were hiding, as Glorfindel, Lord Elrond and some elves knew or might know. Though Legolas has said that if they were to marry one day, he wished to wait with marriage until after the birth of his child.

So now he was here, waiting for the arrival of the wedding pair, Aragorn and Arwen. He would speak with Aragorn, he had not talked with his friend for a time. Éomer was not in sight. Legolas mingled casually among the Imradis elves, most he knew since old visits, and to his relief they never asked of his pregnancy or any details on that topic, though both Erestor, Lindir and a friend of theirs – the three clad in wooden autumn colours like all Imradis elves - congratulated him.

He met also Lady Galadriel alongside her husband a short moment, and she had offered no words this time, only a smile with twinkling eyes that he was left to puzzle over. For a moment, he thought that maybe she knew ...

Legolas sipped at his drink, once now and then glancing for Éomer. Where was he? Why was he late? The man had never seemed late before and had been eager yesterday, to go to the feast and tell his people of his lover. Legolas surveyed the crowd, staring off towards the main gate to the palace and the general direction to the other doors. So where ...?

A hand laid on his arm, making him jump in surprise. A warm deep laughter greeted him. "No longer on your guard, are you? This is something I've never heard of before;" Gimli joked.

He was dressed in a traditional clothing of his people and Legolas felt it was strange to see him without armour or axe, at least visible such – maybe chain mail was hidden beneath all those fabrics.

"T'is good to see you, friend," Legolas greeted him, but glanced over his shoulder at the main gates again. No sign at all.

Gimli squinted at him and then trying to peer through the people who were gathering. He was too damn short for all these people! Men and Elves! Cut their legs!

"What are you looking for; or is it a who?"

Legolas distracted himself from blushing by sipping at his drink and swallow hard. "Just a friend," he said.

Gimli chuckled and gave him a mysterious look. "Ah, well, I am having a hard time believing that, my friend. Now come, let us go further up so we can have a good look at the pair. They'll come from over there," he said and pointed.

Together, they passed the newly planted White tree. People made way for the two friends; their names were not unheard of, they were a part of the Nine walkers – and the story of their journey and quest was spreading from mouth to mouth across the land like fire.

Legolas was about to bow, an automatic reflex, when he passed Elrond but the lord simply shook his head and smiled softly. Beside him stood the twins, their hair tied up and hidden under hoods. The colours – that Legolas had had many a laugh about - was starting to fade, as it was a week since their terror-filled discovery, though it was yet fully visible for anyone to see something had happened.

The two were blushing red and then and now Elrond gave them a look, like reminding them to no way show their 'pitiful state'. Legolas had heard from the brothers about their confrontation with their father – an interesting ... conversation ... that involved many sighs, cries of dismay, and "We didn't do it! There were the hobbits who did it!", "Children! Do grow up! You have passed your second millennium by far!", "But the hobbits ... ", "Second_ millennium_!" and "Sorry, ada!"

Elrond turned his gaze towards the main gate. Legolas looked at the gate as well; at his side, Gimli jumped up but failed to see anything of what was going on. Legolas sent him an amused glance and was answered with a glare.

"What? I was just thinking about boxes, if you still remember the last time that came up."

Gimli's face broke into a grin. "And how had you though of finding one, if you were capable of finding one today, eh? See it as an exception."

"I never said anything about finding!" Legolas said and laughed quietly, then raised his eyes again.

His smile widened when he saw Éomer, finally, descending down the stairs clad in Rohan's colours. By his side were his sister and Faramir. The man spoke shortly with them before they separated and came to stand by each side of the gate. Then came Aragorn, smiling, yet nervous – Legolas could see that miles away. Arwen would come either from the palace or she was hidden safely in the crowd to come forth; Legolas was sure the pair had not seen each other yet this day.

Gimli tugged at his arm. "Let's find a better spot, lad. Don't wish to miss the show, you know!"

Legolas still smiled. He and his friend made their way over to the gate, and Legolas slipped in to stand beside Éomer. The man and he did not touch, but shared a knowing smile and glance. Legolas took a breath to still his beating heart, the words spoken between them yesterday coming back to him in a flash. The fact that Gimli was close to them was forgotten by him. The smell of Éomer, that of horses and plains, calmed him some.

Gimli squinted. There was something about Legolas' demeanour around this man. _Waiting for a friend, eh?_He though, and did not believe a word of it. In a way he would say Legolas' expression was the same as Aragorn's current face, except he lacked a beard. The dwarf had started to learn how to read his friend's face, and otherwise, most elves looked the same. But he could see that Legolas was – in fact – nervous, and he was greatly intrigued to know why.

But there was no time to ponder this when the murmurs of the crowd sank and then rose again as Arwen stepped out in the sunlight. Her beauty was doubled, her eyes shining, her white dress flickering in the soft breeze. Aragorn though she looked unbelievably beautiful, like the day they had met in the forests of Lothlórien, long ago. When the rites were done before the sometimes quiet, sometimes cheering crowd, both stared at each other and the only things existing were them.

"Will you, Elessar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, take Arwen Úndomiel as your wife, and love her and cherish her through hardship and passion in life?"

Legolas hid a smile seeing Aragorn's face. How could the man refuse? He looked in love. _Very_ in love. And Arwen was the brightest star in the world. The man's long wait, all these years, the pain and love and desire – it all came with one world.

"Yes." And he turned to his bride; "I will forever love only you."

Mithrandir turned to Arwen; the lady's hands were clasped with the king's. "Will you, Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar, daughter of Elrond, take Aragorn as your husband, and love and cherish him through all hardship and passion in life?"

Arwen paused slightly to not sound too straightforward, but did not hesitate. She had given up her immortality, her home she had known for centuries, her chances to sail to the Undying Lands, for this man before her. "I will." Then Arwen turned to her love and answered; "As will I."

When Mithrandir declared them married, his words went mostly unheard, drowned in the laughter and cheers. People were too focused on the now wed pair to think anything else, it seemed. Legolas was nervous, as well as he was happy. Somewhere and sometime during this feast, Éomer and he would show themselves to the world so to speak, and it was slightly frightening. He had never before had an open, free relationship like this.

How would his father react? And his people, the elves from Imradis? And Aragorn and Gimli? Eru, he was nervous. He wondered if Éomer felt the same. From where he was standing next to him he could not read his eyes. While Aragorn by hand led his wife through the crowd, which parted before them to make way, Legolas felt Éomer's hand grasp his. The man did not hold his hand when they walked toward the halls, he squeezed lightly to confirm he was there and then he let go, Legolas missing the familiar pressure and warmth.

The feast began and would continue for many hours yet; this time also outside, beneath the sunlight, as well as inside. People mingled about, laughed. Men seemed more curious than ever to speak with and find out about elves, now that their King was married to one. Legolas felt gazes on him. He and Éomer kept company but let go of each other's hands.

At Éomer's gaze, Legolas leaned closer. "Not yet!" he murmured. He was not ready yet. Not yet ...

He took a deep breath as they stepped into the hall where the dinner was to be served, Éomer close by his side, Gimli not far behind them. His eyes widened when he saw the sight of the wide throne-room; it had been fairly decorated with silver lamps and other decorations, probably from Imradis; long white and black curtains embroidered with the White Tree hung from the ceiling.

The tables were set for the many guests, with plates in silver and other metals. By the design of the goblets, Legolas guessed the origins were dwarven. A gift from Gimli and his people, perhaps?

By the far end of the largest table, near the throne, were Aragorn and Arwen, hand in hand. Lord Elrond stepped up to them, blessing them and calling for a servant, coming forth with gifts. The Elven lord gave the royal couple most of Imradis' library, for safekeeping of old documents; and most of it had already been escorted to the libraries of Minas Tirith.

Next came Thranduil, dressed in formal Mirkwood attire with more jewellery than the other lord, and he gave them the finest silk from his lands, varying in many deep muted colours, spun by spiders captured and tamed for this purpose in the forests of Mirkwood.

Legolas loved the feeling of such silk. The tunic he wore now was spun of the fabric which Mirkwood often traded with in exchange for money, food and wine. His father had given the tunic to him for this very feast, so a T in elven letters had been embroidered onto the shoulder of the clothing, marking him clearly as a son of Thranduil and a part of his household.

He was quite sure that Arwen would like a dress or two in that fabric.

Thranduil had sent one of his guards as a messenger two weeks ago, when hearing of the wedding, to fetch the fabrics and also wine as gifts. He did not give any jewellry; Legolas smirked secretly when he realized his father would likely not part from his silver or gold at all. In many ways, he could be a dwarf! Oh, what if his father had heard him saying_ that! "Ada, you know I would still love you even if you were a hadhod, you know that, right? You look a lot like Gimli sometimes, you know." _Legolas grimaced. He probbaly should not tell his father that.

When all gifts and blessings had been given, people gathered themselves to sit and eat. Legolas found himself seated just next to Aragorn, with Gimli on his left side. Two seats away was Éomer. His father sat opposite to him, Arwen's father opposite to the now Queen of Gondor; the hobbits were placed next to her. The little ones were chattering happily, but Legolas sat mostly quiet. Gimli seemed slightly bored with him at first; and he felt the looks his father sent him. His father read him like an open book.

Then the food came, carried by servants walking in straight lines with their faces either blank or hinting at a smile. The food was full and delicious and Legolas knew there were too much to choose from for him to taste at everything, even though he was hungry as well as his child needed food.

The hobbits though enjoyed the meal without doubt and would taste everything – nothing else would be in order! Aragorn knew what they ate by now – which, anyway, was about everything with taste – so he had also managed to make mushrooms available, much to the hobbits' delight.

"This is good," Merry said. "I haven't had anything like this for_ months_! Where did you find all these?" Was there a good place for picking mushrooms they didn't know about here? He must tie Aragorn down and hear him later, if so he must torture the king to hear where to find these delicious mushrooms.

Aragorn only smiled and winked at him in reply, before he was too absorbed in gazing at his wife with eyes shining of love as glass. At being ignored thus, the hobbit muttered something under his breath about a 'lovestruck fool' causing the object of Aragorn's affections to laugh.

The appetizer passed by pleasantly, and once people had started tasting the wines – also a gift from Mirkwood - before soon, chatter and warm laughter broke out by the tables. Gimli sipped the wine, and could even admit it was good. At least, near good, with a "For being from Mirkwood, it's drinkable at least!" but Legolas knew he actually liked it. He himself he only sipped a little wine but kept himself to other, nonalcoholic drinks. Lifae, who was nearby watching his back like always, had made sure that. He could swear, Lifae was his second mother!

He spoke with Aragorn and Arwen some, though the pair were busy enough to stare at each other - but in a handled, characteristic, love-filled way - to really focus_. 'Estel',_ he decided, _'has just turned fifteen again'._

" ... And then, in reward to stand that_ dark, leafy_ – eh, I mean," the dwarf said, glancing at the elves, "nice, very _charmy_ forest, Fanghorn that is, he agreed to the see the splendor of the Glittering Caves with me. Cannot really understand how the elf managed to talk me into it, though."

Gimli's comment made him smile, and he spotted his father's frown but it was replaced by a small hinting smile and a raised eyebrow.

"That is a long story," he said for his father's ears over the sounds of voices and the quartet's music in the background, slipping into Sindarin. "We made the agreement when riding from Helm's Deep, toward ... toward the tower Orthanc." He shivered at the name; he knew not why, aside from the obvious, but he did not like that place at all. He remembered still how his heart had pounded when Saruman had read his mind ...

He forced those thoughts aside.

Actually, he had forgotten his and Gimli's small accord, to visit Fanghorn and the Glittering Caves together, until the dwarf mentioned it right now._ 'But, that maybe will not happen for a time,' _he thought, thinking of his unborn baby laying nestled inside of him, resting peacefully – not kicking or playing inside its parent's womb, for which he was glad.

He saw his father lean a little closer over the table, asking, "Helm's Deep?" He had not heard his son's full story of his travels yet and was eager to hear more. A bit worried of what he might hear. Valar, had he know that his son had been fighting while pregnant - not once but twice, he had heard; upon the fields of Pelennor as well ... He felt himself grow protective again and thus also angry at no one in particular.

Quickly he composed himself and repeated, "Helm's Deep? You have not told me of that yet."

"Later, ada," Legolas murmured, glancing to his side, seeing Mithrandir stand and getting everyone attention by using his staff to make his voice louder. Time for the speech ...

Legolas was glad for the interruption. His father gave him a look before his attention was stolen too.

He glanced over the table, and everyone looked at the wizard, who had started speaking though Legolas did not fully focus on the words, even if he felt in his heart he understood the meaning. Beside him Aragorn and Arwen were holding hands, one of the hobbits was fidgeting with his napkin, Gimli was glancing at something at his left side quickly before looking up again for at least the fifth time. Observing this Legolas turned his gaze, from the corner of his eyes while having his head turned toward Mithrandir out of respect, he looked onto Éomer. The man sensed his gaze and sent him a haste smile across the table. Legolas was struck with how much he felt, that short moment, like a young, teenage, love-struck elfling.

The speech ended and the everyone at the main table and the rest of the tables – where advisors and people of upper classes and also some of their guards sat – applauded. The musicians had stopped to play.

Now Gimli rose, something Legolas was not sure he had expected. The dwarf spoke of love of great things and thanked Aragorn for his bravery through the Fellowship and how he had lead them on, and how great a king he was and would continue to be. Legolas was sure there was a blush beneath Aragorn's beard. Gimli continued in the same grace for some moments, before he gave the now wedded pair a gift. It was box which the dwarf had somehow hid under his robes. Inside it rested a circled completely in Mithril, to fit upon Arwen's head now when she was Queen of Gondor. Gimli had first thought about giving them rings first but he had changed his mind, why he hinted at the War of the Ring that had been.

_'So that was what he has been glancing at through dinner'_, Legolas thought.

It was like a second coronation when the small crown was placed on Arwen's black locks and the people gathered cheered.

Dinner resumed, and the musicians lifted their instruments again, and chatter returned soon to the tables. Thranduil fell into conversion with Lord Elrond; taking opportunity by not being steadily watched by his father Legolas glanced at Éomer. Subconsciously he was sure he looked like some kind of fool, a love-struck one, smiling at a man he was supposed to barely know.

Éomer saw him, smiled back, before reaching over the table. For a moment he was tempted taking Legolas' hand which was resting on the table, but in the last second he grabbed the salt, brushing the elf's skin with his fingertips. Legolas swallowed at the small touch and forced himself to focus on something else than the man's fingers and his smiling eyes. He hoped no one saw the blush spreading up his neck. Valar, saw his father this, Thranduil would kill him! He removed his hand from the table and continued to eat, staring at his plate, out of the corner of his eyes seeing Éomer look at him.

The man had been drinking, like all other guests, he knew that. But had he drunk so much that he would be ... daring enough to start flirting openly in front of everyone else? Legolas was not entirely sure what his father's reaction would be but he could not picture him being pleased about this – his son and a Man ... _'Well,' _he thought,_ 'it is too late to change your mind_ now _about_ him _...'_

To his part relief, Éomer's – along with everyone else's - attention was stolen yet again – no matter how embarrassing it might even to start flirting with him, Legolas was partly annoyed. Aragorn had stood up, offering his hand to Arwen in a dance. They would have the first dance, as was tradition. By now, plates were empty and people happy and stuffed. While Aragorn was determined and raised by elves, he had never become a dancer outside the battlefield, where that dance was totally another thing. Arwen was light on her feet and graceful like any elf, every move precise and beautiful.

Legolas could not help glance at Éomer to see who he was watching; if he was looking at the pair like everyone else in the room. Across the table, he was sent a brilliant smile; there must be one or another man in this room that watched Arwen with hidden interest but Éomer was not one of them. Well, he looked at an elf, but not one with raven hair, rather one with gold ...

The dance was quite short and once the music changed, more couples decided to join. While more and more people stood, some tables were moved to give more area and space. Legolas first felt tempted to join but then refrained, firstly because he felt so large and clumsy right now and secondly, he had no partner. He stood a bit away watching the moving crowd, a mix of upper classes and royalty, men and elves.

He laughed softly spotting Lifae, a bit away, being asked by a quite good-looking man for a dance. Poor Lifae, he looked a bit afraid – of course, in a way only Legolas and Thranduil could be able to see it – and refused politely.

Legolas admitted he had never in his life seen Lifae dance. Maybe he should try his luck ... It'd be amusing just to see the look on his face! So he made his way over the floor to his life-long friend and guard, smiling. "Lifae, why do you not dance? That man, was there anything wrong with him?" he asked in Sindarin.

Lifae gave him a look. "There are so many of them here and I do not understand why all of them stare so at me, at us, my prince," he answered in the same tongue. "Mankind has a strange quality to stock themselves so many in small spaces. I wonder why ..."

Legolas laughed. "You never answered my question, Lifae."

"Well, I have never been so much for dancing ... My prince."

"Never? I have seen you on the battlefield, and I doubt you are so bad as you imply at the dance- floor. Did you not catch the man's sour face? Go on, ask him Lifae! He is no yrch."

Lifae sighed, seeing not many ways out of here, except with a bow and arrows. "My prince, I am perfectly comfortable being with myself right here," he said. "Besides, I have to keep an I on you, Princeling."

"Oh really ...?" Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow. So it was up to himself then. "Well then, Lifae, if I _ordered_ you to dance with him?"

"My prince, this really is not necessary ..." Lifae said a little stiffly, not angry, only uncomfortable. But Legolas had already hooked his arm, an old tendency he had had since childhood, and led him through the crowd sighting the man he had seen earlier; a tall man with dark hair, well-cut for tonight.

"So, go on, Lifae!" Legolas urged, letting go of him. He laughed seeing the man lift his eyes at the sight of Lifae, who was for the first time blushing. Blushing! '_Ai, maybe I should not have done that?'_ he thought while hiding his smirk behind his hand, pretending to cough. Lifae, blushing, the greatest guardian and warrior he knew, blushing! _'I hope my father never finds out my ways to torture my favuorite guards.'_

The man smiled and asked for a dance, again; Lifae glanced over to Legolas, and the prince gave him a small wink. He could not refuse now, could he? Reluctantly, he accepted, letting the man lead him onto the dance-floor and mass of dancers; there was a mix of slow amateurs who danced only because others did it, and mostly younger people who loved it and danced and never looked like they would stop. Arwen and Aragorn were of the latter; as was the man holding Lifae, though Lifae couldn't be placed in either category.

Legolas knew Lifae had been lying. Though ha bit stiff, Lifae was a perfect dancer. He let his gaze drop from the elf for a moment and sweep over the crowd; he saw the hobbits. Merry and Pippin – who were wearing caps on their curly heads, like they were trying to hide something - had decided to dance with each other since every woman in here were too tall for them. Sam and Frodo were far off in a calmer corner, Legolas suspected, but he was not for sure since he could not see them.

And Gimli ... Where was Gimli?

Never in his wildest nightmares, he could imagine a dancing dwarf. They looked just not made for it. Daresay, he hoped Gimli was _not _dancing and making a fool of himself ... Hopefully he was enjoying a drink with his people,_ not dancing._

He let his eyes drift back to Lifae and the man whose name he had not heard; as they were only some meters from him dancing at the edge of the crowd, he saw them clearly. They looked more comfortable now, and Lifae's shoulders not so tense. The pair seemed to be talking, lips moving, but the music and chattering and laughing from people around made it impossibly for him to hear what they said. He could not help his curiosity, he wanted to know what they said. Maybe he could hear from Lifae later ...

--

At the same time, some feet away, Lifae was not as uncomfortable as he had thought he'd be. The man and he had not spoken much, yet, mostly because of verbal restrictions; Lifae silently promised himself to learn Westron someday. The man had introduced himself as Beregond, son of Baranor; he was a guard at the citadel, or had been, under Denethor's reign. He did not explain further of the 'had been' and why he would not serve King Elessar, at least not in the future, and Lifae asked not because he did not find the right words. Beregond spoke not of his family and Lifae guessed then he had none. Why else be dancing with a stranger if he had a wife?

"And what of you?" Beregond asked. He had early realized one thing about this elf; he spoke not much Westron or he himself knew not much elvish, even though his sons had elven names.

"I serve _Taur-nu-Fuin_ ... Mirkwood," Lifae said, trying to explain: "King Thranduil and Prince Legolas. The son and grandson of Oropher."

They fell into silence again. They did not dance too close to each other, not looking each others in the eyes. Since both were males, Lifae first was a little confused of who would take the lead in the dancing though Beregond had quite quickly made his point of he was 'the man' and Lifae, even if he mentally scowled at it, 'the woman'.

Why did all Men believe elves, no matter gender, looked like women? It was insulting! Even if he – ah well, subconsciously, not wanting to admit it – liked the attention, in Mirkwood he had it from females. (And it was not his fault Legolas kept calling him 'mother'!)

After a while he spoke again. "No company do you have?" he asked, hoping the man understood what he meant. Surely he would end up insulting someone without knowing it one day ... But Westron was an unpleasant language on his tongue, differing so much from Sindarin and Quenya that he was used to speak, and hear.

Beregond shook his head. "My wife, the mother of my two sons, died years ago."

Lifae understood the main part of it and lowered his voice a little. So the man had a family, after all; but it also explained why a man that looked old enough by human standards to be married was without company to this feast. "Oh. ...I am sorry."

Beregond smiled a little. "Do not worry. It was, like I said, a long time ago."

Lifae flinched a little when feeling another couple bump into them. The music had changed from a lively song to a slow one, allowing conversation withing the dance. He saw other couples around them, embracing, pressed flush against each other.

"You have two sons?" he asked, to distract himself.

"Aye – my eldest, Bergil, he is almost ten now, and my youngest, Borlas, is five."

Lifae nodded to confirm he had understood. When the man asked if he had any family, he shook his head no. "No. Not any wife, no child. Guard Prince Legolas all my life. He like son, or brother, to me."

Beregond's smile widened; why, Lifae did not know. He glanced over the man's shoulder after said elven prince, but could not spot him. Without him realizing it, he and Beregond had been moving further and further into the crowd and further away from Legolas. For a moment he felt a rising worry of having the prince out of sight – who knew what the young prince would do without his presence - but then he sighed and shook himself mentally. He had done well without the prince for weeks and even months during the Fellowship's Quest (even if he had been unable to sleep well), would a few minutes hurt?

The music stopped, and the musicians were picking up new sheets with notes to play putting them onto the music-stands. For a moment there was silence with only chatter from the people that rose in the lack of music, then a lively happy waltz started to play. Lifae only thought;

_'Oh no.' _

He had handled slow dances but this song was quicker than anyone before. '_What's this? An elf afraid of dancing - again?'_ he scowled at himself. He could fight the worst of enemies and orcs, as Legolas had said, and was skilled on the battlefield - then why couldn't he dance? He was not surrounded by yrch ...

Beregond gave him a wondering look seeing the elf's small frown. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Lifae said and added in a murmur, "I've never ... danced waltz before." _'In three thousand years, you have never danced waltz - you know that sounds more than a little strange, don't you?'_ he asked himself. Luckily, the man did not know how old he was.

Beregond was steady on his feet and Lifae was thankful for that. Quickly he learned and felt the beat – maybe this wasn't so bad after all. In a sharp turn, some of his dark locks was stuck under the man's fingers as Beregond at the same time shifted his grip on his waist. Lifae minded a little a moment but at least his hair was not so short that the man pulled at it. So, they were dancing.

The musical taste of Mankind was really different from elven ...

--

Almost every young woman and every elf were asked for a dance; Legolas was a bit surprised when this shorter man asked him. He declined politely, though; he was not thinking about dancing tonight. He'd look like a fool, with his round belly and all! He feared he had lost most of his grace now since he had not trained, fought or danced or done anything else exercising for the last past months after the War. When he lifted his eyes, he found he had lost sight of both Lifae and the man_. 'Damnit ... I wanted to know how it went!'_

There was suddenly knock on his shoulder, and a pair of voices saying, "Hello, Legolas," Elrohir greeted.

"Good morning." Elladan said.

"Or should we say good afternoon?" his brother wondered.

His twin muttered something under his breath. "What are you looking at, 'Las?" he asked, for a moment looking over the crowd. "The only thing I'm sure, you're not looking for ladies ... Any men around for your tastes?"

Legolas grunted and playfully hit his arm. "Do not tease, 'Ro," he said. "Have you not realized yet you are not amusing – at all? Your minds works slowly, oh dear. Two thousand years ... "

"Now you hurt me, 'Las," Elrohir said, pretending to pout. His twin and the wood-elf only smirked at him.

"Sorry, El'," Legolas said, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling his little child move. The twins did not notice the flutter beneath the wood-elf's shirt. "What do you two mischief-makers want here around me anyway? I believe Estel is a little afraid you would ruin his wedding feast." Most causes for the twins to seek him was usually to 'do some work', that was what they called to do a prank.

"Oh, don't worry, Arwen is also a little scared about that, and we'd never dare try to make _her _angry," Elladan said.

His brother shivered, looking terrified. "Never try. And I really mean ..."

"_Never_ ..."

"...in your_ life_. Because we ..."

"We know the pain," they finished together as if it explained everything. "Real life experiences are life's best lessons."

Legolas laughed before stealing a glance into the crowd again. He guessed Lifae must be pretty comfortable, gone as he were, dancing with that man, and maybe he had done more than just made them dance. He snickered. Not every day he tried to play matchmaker ... At the twins' questions why he was looking so much at 'everyone and no-one and a tangle of legs' he explained what he had forced his poor guard into.

They laughed and looked at each other. "Is it safest to leave now, before he comes back all furious?" Elladan asked.

"I believe so. We don't have anything to do with this. Do we? Didn't think so. We're off anyway, we must speak with Estel and Arwen some. Bye and, good luck 'Las, and should I say, be on your guard?"

He patted the wood-elf's shoulder before he slung an arm around his brother and left. Legolas ignored their comment and instead moved to find a seat by the wall, where seats had been placed. He was thankful for that. Once again he looked over the crowd, sipping at his drink the same time.

He thought he caught a blur of swirling black hair and could not help but laughing happily seeing Lifae's face broken up in a wide grin. At least finally Lifae was getting something he needed – and Legolas had some time on his own as well now when one pair of prying eyes were gone, concentrating on someone else.

After some moment he decided to find Éomer, through the chaos of people. He knew not the exact number of guests but this hall was large and people were outside as well now; they were well a hundred and more. If Éomer was not near Aragorn and Arwen, who were easy to spot, then he could be anywhere, with his sister and people Legolas knew, or with people Legolas had never seen before. Before he stood, he drank the last of his drink, putting the empty glass on one of the servants' trays.

First he would go to Aragorn and Arwen, congratulate them and talk, and ask for Éomer ... Or should he? He paused suddenly when he was about to walk over to them. They would grow suspicious ... Maybe he should just talk with them, then find Éomer by himself.

_'Why are you always worrying your heart out? And your mind?_' he scowled himself.

--

Arwen and Aragorn were as easy to find as he had been sure. Elladan and Elrohir were not there, though he saw them slip away with empty glasses. The married couple greeted him with wide smiles and Arwen pulled him into a hug. It was quite a long time since they had seen and talked with each other; it was like reunion a brother and sister. Legolas did not know what she had been up to the last few weeks and days; maybe she had spent time with her friends from Imradis. She had been with Aragorn of course.

"Congratulations, you two," he said, smiling wide. "It is good seeing you so happy."

Arwen laughed lightly. "Estel must bet he most lucky man in Middle-Earth."

Aragorn's grip around her waist tightened a little. "Why do elves always speak around me, like I am not here?" he wondered aloud. "I am not deaf ..."

"Of course not, my dear," Arwen said, kissing his cheek. She turned to Legolas. "How do you like the feast? The food? I have heard they had the best cooks available for this and I must agree."

"It is very good. Though I never thought that so many guests would fit inside this hall. At the moment, it seems a little too small," Legolas supplied, the latter in afterthought.

"Aye, Men are a race for stocking themselves in have I noticed lately ..." Arwen agreed.

Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Valar, if my dear wife continue like this, I fear I have to remove some of her company, like _certain elven princes_," he warned.

This caused Legolas to laugh. The wood-elf bowed. "Then I will be on my way. Have you seen Gimli, perhaps,_ My Lord_?" he asked, titling the man teasingly.

Aragorn looked over the crowd and shook his head. "I have not seen him since the dance began, though if you go seeking the smell of dwarves and smoke, you might be able to find him. He must be appreciating some real dwarven company after all time around elves."

"Indeed," Legolas muttered, taking good-bye for now of the couple and going in search for Gimli.

The dwarf was not around the dining tables, nor among the dancers. When Legolas met the hobbits in the middle of their dancing he asked them, and Pippin supplied that he had seen the dwarf slip outside some half an hour ago in company of some others of his people and two elves. Legolas followed the pointed direction with newly arisen curiosity – why would there be elves as well? Maybe it was a coincidence, and the elves had nothing do to with Gimli, or a disaster was waiting for him.

Why else than for a quarrel would elves seek dwarves, or dwarves seek elves for that matter?

Outside the air was warm and soft. By the setting of the sun, he realized that more than two and a half hours had passed already. Here and there, people were enjoying the sunlight and stood and sat in groups, talking and eating. The music streamed through the open door, so there were a few dancers out here as well, dancers that enjoyed more privacy.

He followed the sounds of loud laughter and low, dwarf-like voices. This led him on a path under a stone arch, leading to a smaller nearby plaza surrounded by buildings, connected to the palace, that housed the Imradis and Mirkwood elves for time being. In the shadow of one of the buildings, around a low table sat a group of dwarves and two elves in a ring, shoulder to shoulder. They looked ... drunk. Legolas sighed; the probably were. They sat upon the ground, others on low pallets. There was some empty bottles of wine in front of them, also some half-empty bottles of ale, dwarven ale maybe. Had they drunk Mirkwood wine? Had they _any idea _how strong that could be?!

For a moment, Legolas stared.

One dwarf hiccupped and raised his cup; then Legolas blinked, realized it was a beard-less dwarf; a female? "Fo'yelves an' draws... Ach mean dwarfs!" she announced.

Legolas blinked again, a little shocked at seeing her bend around and kiss one of the elves' cheeks. _'Well, so much for elven honour ...'_ he thought. This was disgraceful, really; at weddings it was not the right time for getting drunk. Especially someone else's wedding. _'Especially _Arwen_'s wedding. She will have a fit about this and believe El' and 'Ro has something to do with it. Oh poor ones ...'_

He had not yet announced himself, standing by the arch leaning against it. Maybe right now it was not much a good idea. At least the dwarves and the elves here, whom he could not identify, had their fun. They were laughing, giggling, talking – at least trying to. A silver-blonde elf, who did not seem so drunk and wobbly as the others, was still talking comprehensible, if a bit groggily. The others seemed like they had lost half their tongue. The smell raising from the group was almost sickening.

Gimli laughed a rumbling sound from deep in his throat. "Ay'! F'elves an' their pretty faces!" He patted the other elf on the back.

Legolas was suddenly not so sure if he wanted to be here. Gimli would try to drag him into this, probably. Maybe it was best to drag Gimli _out of here_, instead. The dwarf would not only have a horrible headache and hangover tomorrow, he could also happen to insult someone without thinking. Warning bells tingled in his mind.

He cleared his throat, getting no reaction. With a sigh he walked over and knocked at Gimli's shoulder, making him jump. The others did not seem to notice the newly arrived elf.

"Gimli, what are you doing, drinking yourself full at another's wedding?" he asked. Gimli winced, looking at him in slight confusion. "Come with me, out of here, so I might still have some of mine dignity left," Legolas added; to see a dear friend like this did actually tear at his pride. His father was displeased with the dwarf in the first place and if Thranduil saw them like this, things would get worse. And oh dear,_ Arwen and Estel would _...

"Gimli! I was about to talk with you but now I see it has to be another day. What fool gets drunk before nightfall anyway? A dwarven fool, obviously, I should have know," he could not help adding rather icily.

"H'y, h'y, I'm no' whachyure talkin about!" Gimli protested when Legolas forcibly dragged him to his feet. Legolas cursed under his breath, the dwarf was heavy, and because of his pregnancy the elf's had started to loose muscle. "Laeglass, you'd no idea whacht ..." He hiccupped, dropping his cup. "...whachtis elf said t'me," Gimli finished, pointing at one of the elves, whose laughter filled the air. "Ye won't bel'veit!"

"I think you have had quite enough, thank you," Legolas concluded, dragging the dwarf with him over the plaza leaving the others behind. The dwarves called after them, waving their arms and shouting something in dwarfish, that Legolas guessed meant 'come back'.

"Y'won'a belllii...ieve... bel-ieve-eyt ..." Gimli murmured under his breath.

When starting to come nearer the entrance, Legolas put the dwarf down on the steps, letting go of his arms."Sit right here. The fresh air will do you some good. Stay away from any drinks, hear me?"

Gimli nodded his head. "Y'won't bell...bell...Laegoless, ye ... Haha! He, Lage-lass, Laegless, that's funny, hahaha ... Y'know! Y'get it! Lass no legs ..." He raised a finger to the sky and then toward his foot as if to prove his point. "Has ... hassen ... no legs!"

Legolas rolled his eyes dramatically at his friend's display. "Gimli. Stay here. Right here. Understood? Once you feel clear enough in your head you should go inside and find your room and go to sleep."

"Yach, ay'ay, mothar I'll do, b'tyu wonna belo_eeiive_ ... wacht 'e _saaaayeed _...." Gimli almost sang in a very not-dwarf-like manner. "Mothar Lage-laeg-leg-laless-lass-hass ... "

Legolas thought he was becoming a little ... scary. He straightened up, spared one last glance at his friend – who staring at the horizon while muttering and singing over his breath – before he quickly made his way inside, this time to find Éomer.

In his mind, he added; _'Eru, pray, let this dwarf just faint and spare me the horror of meeting him later. Please. Please. Please.'_

--

Leaving the dwarf behind, Legolas entered the Great Hall again. Aragorn and Arwen were dancing again; the dancers became fewer and fewer to give them space. That way, he spotted Lifae and the man again, separating. They said something before the man disappeared in the mass again and Lifae turned, seeing the Prince. Even though his face was serious, his eyes were lighter than before when he approached him.

Legolas hid a smirk behind his wrist, pretending to smoothen his hair. "So was it so bad, Lifae?" Legolas wanted to know once Lifae was close enough for conversation.

Lifae slowly shook his head. "No ... not really, my prince," he admitted, in Sindarin.

"You _are_ a good dancer, do not deny it. You should do it more often," Legolas suggested.

Lifae looked bewildered. "I doubt that, prince," he said. "I am only a beginner. I rather keep it to arrows and swords than the dance-floor."

"Utter nonsense." Legolas smiled. "Anyway, that man seemed quite interesting. Did he reveal his name?"

Recognizing the look of eagerness and curiosity in Legolas' eyes – the one that so often landed him in trouble as an elfling and had his guards almost mad – Lifae suppressed a small sigh. "Yes, his name was Beregond. More I do not know, my prince," he said, lying smoothly. "It was only a dance," he added. "He could have been anyone."

Legolas tried to prompt him into saying more but Lifae had decided to be silent so he were. Instead he asked the prince what he thought of the feast, and what he had done while his guard had danced. "I was outside," Legolas answered vaguely, "having, erm,_ a conversation _with a friend of mine. It was interesting, to say at least."

Lifae raised an elegant eyebrow in question, implying the prince to continue to speak.

"He was a little drunken," Legolas explained. "So I could not comprehend all that he was saying. I dearly hope he will not do anything ... stupid. Oh dear, I hope he does not do anything stupid now either; I left him on his own by the stairs."

His guard nodded in understanding. That was a trait of men, and dwarves too; to drink so much you barely could think and acted like a complete fool.

"I was going in search for ... another friend, when I saw you, for a talk," the prince finished. "Have you perhaps seen King Éomer?"_ 'Would Lifae wonder if I asked?'_ he wondered too late. He had used Éomer's title, so maybe Lifae would not suspect anything. But he needed to find Éomer, if not the man found him. Their agreement was yet fresh in his mind; but was Éomer doubting it now, suddenly? He_ had_ seem quite eager to come 'out of the closet', so to speak, at dinner and before that ...

Lifae frowned a little but shook his head. "No, I have not seen the King. May I ask, my prince, why you seek him?"

"Oh, we ... I only wished to talk with him," Legolas said. "That's all." _'Complete lie, is it not?' _he thought. _'You do wish more than just_ talk _...' _"It matters not at the moment anyway, does it?" he murmured, lying to himself as well as to Lifae. "Let us go find something more to drink. I am thirsty."

--

Éowyn was shining, her brother noticed that the first time he saw her today. That did not surprise him. What did surprise him, however, was one of her first words when they met.

" ... I did not think it was true."

"What?" Éomer asked her. "What was?"

"The elf ... he is really ..." She paused, a faint rose hue rising to her otherwise pale cheeks. "Of course I saw I months ago but now I just realize ... I saw him today, outside, and you did too did you not?" Not waiting for him to answer, she continued; "I heard it as a rumour from the healers , in Edoras; they told me that Lord Aragorn revealed it to Merry after Legolas' collapse there."

Éowyn knew that her brother understood what she was speaking of. He had, after all, been the one to come to the elf's aid after Merry's desperate call for help. It was still a mystery exactly what had happened, and the elf still denied that he remembered anything of the event.

Éomer looked at her with surprise. "You did?"

He had not heard any rumours of the healers' apparent discovery or Aragorn's revelation, otherwise than as a passerby; he had been busy back then, secretly worrying for the elf, at the same time mustering the Rohirrim even if his Uncle did not agree then, and he had tried to convince Théoden to go to war. It was a long time ago, it felt like; these last weeks after the War, there had been much to be done, but work was done happily now, when the large threats of Sauron and Saruman were gone. There was peace that calmed the people and every day seemed brighter. Yet there was much to be done, crops to be sown, families reunited, homes and whole towns rebuilt. The War had left the lands scarred.

"Aye," Éowyn commented. "I'm a bit surprised you did not know about it. I could not see his ... condition wen I met him at first. He was ..." Suddenly she stopped herself, and lowered his voice. "He was at least five months pregnant when I saw him in the Houses of Healing, and I should have been able to realize what the well meant ... I was too shocked about the rumour, I guess, to realize it."

She knew not much about elves, but Legolas had never given any sign of having a husband, so he must be pregnant out of wedlock. But maybe customs of the Eldar was different, marriage not the same thing as for Men. Maybe he was married, after all, or had a lover left behind in his home Mirkwood. She did not know and she did not think it a good idea to pry into the lives of elves. Truth to be told, she wanted to, because now she was fascinated by the elf. Partly because he was elf, mostly because _he_ was _pregnant._

"Ah, well," she murmured seeing Faramir coming over to the siblings, a newly filled glass of wine in his hand. 'Why am I feeling that I wish to speak with Legolas later?' she wondered, before pushing the elf-matters aside and greeting Faramir instead. He leaned down and kissed her on her cheek. Éomer, standing behind his sister, smiled.

Just two days ago, Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Lord of Ithilien, had asked for Éowyn's hand in marriage. They were so obviously in love, already starting to make wedding plans. It would be in Ithilien in spring, when flowers bloomed and valleys stretched with greens and hundreds of other colours. Éomer had first been hesitant letting his dear sister near a man that way, but he had to give in. She was proud, strong, could take care of herself; she was more experienced on the battlefield than many men, even, that had to count for something. But inside that hard, fierce woman was a kind, sad, almost hesitant soul, the complete contrast of her spirit outwardly.

She must have taken up sword practice secretly long before Éomer found out.

Faramir was different. He was calm, collected, sincere ... So gentle and well-learned, taking more liking to lore and politics than the sword. Obviously a warrior and surely well on the battlefield, but not like his brother, Boromir, whom Éomer had met years ago; it had been a shock hearing he was dead. Legolas had told him.

That reminded him. Legolas ... He wondered where Legolas was now, together with whom. Was he also enjoying company of friends and family, or was he wandering off alone in a corner? The elf was a loner, Éomer knew that. But did he not have that life-guard wandering around him all since King Thranduil arrived? Oh yes, he had. The guard's name was blurry in his memory, something like Laef, Ilafer: he was not quite sure what the tall creature was named, but it was something like that.

He excused himself from Éowyn and Faramir's company, leaving them to dance or talk as they wished.

It was rather luck than anything else when he spotted a tall dark-haired elf, standing next to one with golden hair, peeking out from the crowd. The two elves appeared to be talking, and Legolas patted the other's arm. The dark-haired one looked a bit despairing. Éomer moved closer to them, though lost sight of the pair for a moment; the next time he saw Legolas the other elf was making his way through the crowd but with a quite sour look on his face. Éomer decided he dared to approach.

--

" ... and that was it?"

Legolas fought his childish pout again. He knew that Lifae was a bit uncomfortable, more because of his prompting about the elder elf's dance rather than the Prince's childish behavior towards him. Legolas acted very much about him like Lifae was his father ... or mother.

"That was it, my prince, I swear," Lifae said in Sindarin for the third time. He was holding a half-filled glass of wine in his hand. "Why this curiosity, might I ask, my lord?"

"Oh, nothing really ... Young minds, you know, always asking ... ?" Legolas said innocently.

Lifae sighed and rolled his eyes. "My Prince, I must ask you to behave. You are not an elfling anymore and you are among royals."

Legolas rubbed his neck. "All right. I will do better, I promise, Lifae." He paused for a moment, before adding; "Have you seen my father yet?"

Lifae shook his head. "Perhaps he is with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel," he suggested. Thranduil had preferred the Lothlórien elves more than the Imradis elves for a long time, and the elves from Lórien_ were_ much alike to the wood-elves. "Would you like to go seek for them?"

Legolas looked past him and eyed the crowd. He caught the glimpse of Rohirric sharp eyes and a soft smile, making his heart stop for a moment. "... Nay, I can do that ... later ..." he murmured to Lifae, trying to put himself together. He realized why Éomer was there, smiling at him; the man wished to talk. Then he could not have Lifae hanging over him like a hawk! "I think I will retire for tonight," he said.

Lifae sent him a glance, wondering what was passing through the prince's mind – or maybe he was just tired suddenly. "Would you have me to escort you, my lord?"

"No, it is not necessary. I can look after myself and yes, I can find my way. As you said, I am an elfling no longer," Legolas added, suddenly determined to do anything to just have a chance to speak with Éomer. He saw not the man in the crowd anymore. "Go and have your own fun, Lifae. You need it. Anyway, you enjoyed dancing (more than you admit, I tell you)." When Lifae still did not look convinced, Legolas added; "I am perfectly capable to watch over myself; I shall only walk to my chambers. There are no threats here. But if you are so convinced you _have_ to watch someone's back, go and find my father; I am sure he would be glad to have your company, Lifae. And you do have friends from Mirkwood and Imradis here ... Would you not miss them by watching only me always?"

Lifae looked at him for a long, stern moment, before he gave in. "If you insist, Princeling."

Legolas beamed. "Good, now go, Lifae. Maybe the man, Beregond, is yet on the dance-floor ..."

The dark-haired elf watched his prince for a moment, before nodding and bowing shortly, murmuring a soft, "Good night, my prince ..." Then he left.

Legolas sighed, relieved that Lifae had not started to ask him questions, even though he gave him one or two glances. Would Lifae realize he had been lying? '_Of course, stupid elfling,' _he told himself._ 'Liafe is three thousands years old, how then could he not see when someone is lying or not? You have grown up with him. And he will clearly see you're lying once he sees you with Éomer, yet up and wide awake.'_

Now, where was Éomer?

_----_

_**Small note**: I had meant this chapter to be longer, but there was a part in the middle I just coudl not get done, so I will just hurry with it and add it in the next chapter instead. *Sigh* This was harder than I thought!_


	35. Chapter 35

_**Author's notes:** Immense apologizes for the long delay!_

_There are some parts that I was not entirely pleased with the story-line ... And concerning Lifae, I am not so sure where it is going and am open for suggestions. Thank you for reading, everybody._

_**Review responses:**_

_DevilChile: Thanks for your review! There has been a lot of waiting, impatience and lack of inspiration on my part, unfortunately, but I am set on finishing this story once and for all. There's much yet that can happen!_

_Wytman: Hey, thank you! And here's another update. If you mean I 'skipped the wedding' at Aragorn's coronation, it is because I put the wedding as in the book on Midsummer's Eve (in the movie the wedding was set the same day as Aragorn's coronation, I think). The wedding scene, that begun by the last chapter, will continue here. (There is a bit more Gimli left to see!)_

_mikinyet: Ah yes Legolas can, can he not? In a way Lifae is suffering though I think Lifae is simply stubborn in nature, and hates to leave Legolas' side ... (He's acting like a mother for good reason, knowing how flighty an elfling Legolas is!)_

_Twilight Fan: Thank you for reading and reviewing this. I am always excited finding new readers and new names leaving a review ... Apologizes for the slow irregular updates as of late._

**----**

**Chapter 35**

----

When he spotted Legolas' guard walk away, Éomer took the opportunity. The elf was not startled by his approach, rather pleased, and looking a little bemused at the direction if his life-guard.

"Good evening," Legolas greeted with a smile.

"Hello, fair one," Éomer murmured, his eyes glinting in the light from all the crystals and candles hanging from the ceiling above.

The elf laughed softly. "You are a risky man, calling an every-day elf such in front of all these people," he teased warmly, even if he appreciated the man's murmured words and the hand that was laid on his arm. "I see you had a hard time finding me," he continued, "among all these people crowding in the Hall."

"Me? Nay, nay, I had just a slight trouble with my eyesight for a short moment," Éomer tried to defend himself. "Once I had ripped free from my sister and Lord Faramir, I could spot your shining face a mile away. My eyesight has been fully restored."

"Teaser," Legolas laughed. "Will you take all those few moments I managed to spare for the two of us only to flatter?"

"Of course not," Éomer said. "Or rather, yes. I can flatter you everyday."

"Hm," Legolas said grinning and pressed a soft palm to Éomer's forehead. "I believe you must have had one drink too much; or you have caught a fever. Most unlike you, this behaviour."

"I am very much fine, love," Éomer said. "I am feeling unusually happy today ..." His voice melted away, into the music that still played behind them. People in suits and coloured dresses swirled around them. Legolas was a bit surprised when the man bowed to him and offered a hand; "Shall we dance?"

Legolas saw the man's eyes shining with love and his smile wide on his face, but shook his head, murmuring under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"... I do not want to dance," the elf admitted.

The man looked surprised. "Why not?" What was this, an elf that did not want to dance? Or could not? No that could not be it. Elves were agile and in a sense, perfect, creatures; who sang, danced, fought as easily a Man breathed. That was what he knew, at least. "There is nothing wrong, is there?" he wondered. "I have never heard of an elf unable to dance."

"No, nothing is wrong," Legolas said, his jaw tightening. "I do know how to dance, I am able to; I simply refuse to."

"Just one dance?" Éomer asked hopefully.

"Look, I do not want ... I _cannot_ dance!" Legolas finally hissed, gesturing at his pregnant belly. "I would look like a fool - just look at me! - and ... and ... there'd be people staring, we-"

"You look wonderful, Legolas, _more than wonderful_," Éomer interrupted. "Just one dance, please. You are an elf, the most graceful, beautiful, awing, amazing creature in the world. You cannot look bad nor dance badly; I have seen your balance and perfection in battle, dancing on a battle-field, I have heard you sing. The two goes hand in hand. Legolas, just one single dance!"

Legolas fought a pout - one he had used as a child to get what he wanted, though his parents and the court soon had grown quite immune to it. One dance ... Éomer gave him a pleading look. Just one dance ... _'Remember about Lifae, what you forced him into,' _he reminded himself._ 'Now it's the same for you. Lifae enjoyed it. Cannot you?_'

With a sigh, he said, "Fine. But you owe me!" Knowing the shock this would bring to many – mostly, his father – Legolas braced himself and allowed Éomer to take his hand, laying a palm on his arm, and lead him onto the dance-floor. The man looked more than happy and the elf felt so as well, in his heart.

At first they danced hesitatingly, the elf's movements stiff, disappointing the man a little. "Do not the shy," the man whispered. The words made Legolas relax some, partly because he did not want to be seen as shy and hesitant all the time. He could not stop glancing around, to see if someone was watching them. But no eyes truly focused on them, more set upon the royal couple and Lady Galadriel and her husband, two tall elves that almost shone in the room.

They danced for one song, then another, and Legolas soon grew to enjoy it, smiling and sometimes when Éomer almost tripped or at other nearly-incidents, he laughed. Slowly he relaxed completely and is movements were naturally graceful just like they should be.

Once Éomer tried to seek out his lips, but Legolas averted his gaze a little even if he wanted to kiss him. "We cannot do that there, and not yet!" he gasped. "Maybe later ..."

"... Later," the man sighed. Then a smile flickered across his face and he contented himself by resting his hand atop the elf's shoulder, the other grasping Legolas' slender hand. "Would you..." His voice paused. '_Nay, I cannot ask that,' _he thought.

Legolas raised his eyes again, curious. "What?" he wondered. "Please finish."

Éomer shook his head. "I should not. Maybe later."

But Legolas was set upon knowing what the man wished to say. "Please," he prompted with a hopeful smile. "I dance with you; see it as the favour for it. You said only one dance, and here we are at the second! You do owe me ..."

Éomer pressed a little closer. "Will you ... will you marry me?" he finally asked.

--

It was time to go inside, the dwarf decided. He just wanted to find a bed and fall asleep. Hm, or fall asleep right here. The elf's earlier – an hour or two ago, he thought, but he was not sure since it could have been five minutes or five hours – words to him seemed wise enough.

But it was not his fault that he had been drinking. It were those damn flighty elves that had_ dared _him and he could not refuse a glass or two! Or three. He hoped that he had not done anything ... obvious ... stupid ... embarrassing while drunk (But he was_ not_ drunk!) out there. He remembered calling an elf pretty ... Aulë! What had he done! He must not have tried to get closer to that elf, whoever it had been. Simply must not have. He could not even recall whether the elf had been female or not.

Gimli stumbled up the white stairs, through the open gates into the hall. There were a lot of people here._ 'All right. Bed. Walk straightly and everything will be fine. A straight line. Back to the door. The corridor. Straight line ... Not into anyone. Or anything. Oh! That was close. Mind the vase. Straight lines. On.' _He concentrated to keep himself straight, his steps right and not stumbling and bumping into people and furniture, as he moved into the hall slowly, near the wall so that he could reach out and steady himself._ 'Go on, so you won't have any elven prince scowlin' at you later! Know how he is, frettin' all the time, motherin' in all his might of course, but I can't stop be worried about such a lad myself sometimes – Often! - Not often! - But why am I mind-arguing with myself anyway?!'_

Then he stopped dead in his tracks, realizing that he had no idea which way across the room the door leading to the main corridors. No idea at all. Would it hurt asking? Or would it appear he was a fool?

"Gimli son of Glóin, is it not?"

The sudden voice made him jump slightly and he turned around, more like stumbling on his heels. The speaker raised an arched silver eyebrow. It took a moment for Gimli to register what was said.

"Aye, that's me – At yer service, mist- King Thranduil?!" he suddenly gasped, recognizing the elf standing in front of him. What was he doing here?!

_'There are guests. He is a guest. One of the ones invited by Aragorn. Or rather one invited by inviting himself.'_ He kicked himself mentally. _'Right.'_

"You are observable, I see, dwarf," Thranduil said in a slight ironic tone. He knew a drunken when he saw one. Elves, Men, Dwarves; when drunk – even though it took different amounts of alcohol to get them that – they did and could do the most strange, embarrassing things, stumbling around, vomiting. Thranduil had lived long enough to see it among a handful of elves as well. "I never knew dwarven stomachs were so sensitive," he commented rather mockingly. "Never would I be interested in finding out either."

Gimli felt a tingle of anger starting to pyre inside of him. "Y'askin' for fightin', eh? Dare any elf mock ta' dwarfs. Bah, there's no manner in anymo'e in people."

Thranduil observed him silently for a moment, and his son's words from days ago returned to him; the dwarf was different than one thought at first. And at the moment, he was also drunk, which only made things worse. Still the elven king had a hard time understanding what his son saw in this dwarf, saw in him to value him like a friend, a brother on and off the battlefield.

"No. No, of course not, Mister dwarf," Thranduil said, forcing himself to calm down, and not let ire and old feuds anger any of them more. To say anything than just 'dwarf' hurt some of his pride. "I simply wondered what you are doing here in your ... condition."

"There's no cond'tion I'm in," Gimli muttered and started to turn around, not noticing the small smirk that started to grow on Thranduil's lips. Bah! Just like Legolas the damn lad, scowling at him just like that, eyebrows and all. He _wasn't_ drunk! "Hmph, they neve' learn. Elves wi'their stiff necks_. Bah! _I'm off te' bed. Ta."

Thranduil's eyes drifted over the direction the dwarf was starting to walk, over the floor where less and less people were gathering, many parts of the dance floor now empty – people either leaving, or settling back by the tables to just talk and drink.

But his gaze froze on two dancers, one gently pulling the other with him, over the floor to a corner. Thranduil's eyes widened with both anger and concern when the man's settling above his partner's waist.

_Legolas'_ waist.

The elven king swallowed to keep back a loud yell and start a fight right there and then with his son and that man – was that not the horse-lord? King Éomer, who had taken over the Kingdom of Rohan when his uncle Théoden passed away? Thranduil winced. How _dared_ _he_ touch his son!? It had been a shock knowing his son had had a lover before, but that anger he had felt over it had just passed away. Now this ... and so soon after Legolas' lover's death! He was shaming himself, his people! This man ... did he and Legolas imply ... did they ... or were they just friends, dancing, not lovers?_ 'They cannot be!_' Thranduil's mind argued. '_Stop them now!'_

The dancers moved smoothly, though slowly and quite hesitatingly. The elf leaned in a little, murmuring something into his dance-partner's ear. The man smiled, answering in words that made Legolas blush and laugh; Éomer's hands traveled a bit lower. The elf reprimanded him by taking one of the man's hand and settling it at a more safe place on his back.

'_Stop them, idiot! You are the King of Greenwood the great and have the most right of anyone in this room to separate those two, take Legolas from here and make that man never see him, never touch him, again! Why don't you move, Thranduil? Damn it do something! '_

Thranduil was too fixed upon the man and his son to notice that also Gimli had started to look at the two dancers with part surprise, part curiosity, mostly confusion. His vision was a little blurry. He couldn't see right now, could he? Simply, he was too far away in his mind to put any pieces together. Usually, Gimli was very observant concerning his friends, mostly Legolas. Legolas would never dance right now, he was sure, the elf was far too stubborn for his own good of that ... The lad would never 'embarrass' himself that way, by dancing in front of so many while pregnant. Elves. Bah. (What was it with that word, seeming to fit in everywhere?)

Wasn't that man ... Éomer?

The King of Rohan?

_'...What are you looking for?'_

_'Nothing. Just a friend.'_

Had this something to do with the lad's strange behavior earlier today, the off-put conversation outside? Legolas had behaved weirdly the whole day along, all right. He was an elf after all. Maybe this was only usual elf behavior, Gimli thought. But he thought he knew that elf, as well an elf could be known. But then why, by all rock that is, did Thranduil look so furious? Gimli thought that the elven king looked like nearly on fire; better place some safe distance between them now before the moment heated up too much.

The dwarf rubbed his temples, making his way through the crowd, many of them unaware of what was going on in a certain corner of the dance-floor where a certain elven king was.

Thranduil was shocked, he admitted to himself. His son … his little leaf … Were the two dancers friends ... or more? Valar, Legolas had barely mentioned the man at all and now this … That Mankind usually danced even with people that they were not married to had Thranduil forced himself to accept. But elves never danced with anyone else than dear friends or a lover. But not strangers; not_ other races._ What was his son doing? And pregnant! So soon after his lover's death … Thranduil was torn between shock and great concern, the protectiveness that parents feel for their children while even without true sanity in their minds.

In the end, he shook himself out of his revive, and stalked over the floor surprising one or another and taking his son by the arm rather harshly. "Legolas, what are you doing?!" he asked, his voice falling into an angry tone of elvish. Legolas seemed a bit shocked and protested when his father dragged him away from the man's grasp.

"Adar, I can-"

Thranduil gave him no time to finish; he turned to the man, Éomer, and fell back into Westron. "What are you doing with my son?! Explain yourself!"

"Adar, we-"

"Quiet," Thranduil cut off. He would listen to Legolas later in his chambers. The man, Éomer, owed him an apology first.

Éomer's gaze flashed between the two elves, then he gave a small bow at the King. "I apologize, King Thranduil, for being with your son without your consent," he apologized, though not fully sincerely. Was he really sorry to be with Legolas, was he? No, he was not. Thranduil's eyes looked set on fire. Legolas gave his father a pleading look, but was once again cut off before he could say anything. Thranduil beckoned Éomer to continue to speak. "I, we do have our reasons, to be with each other, though."

"Are you meaning what you implied?" Thranduil wanted to know. He looked a little aghast.

Éomer glanced at Legolas, who nodded. "Yes, we are, my lord."

Thranduil's grip finally loosed from Legolas' arm. The younger blonde took the chance to speak in the tense silence that settled between the two. "Adar, please, let me explain," he asked. "Maybe we could speak in privacy ..." His father did not answer. "I am sorry if I have displeased you, adar." His words halted.

Thranduil breathed a deep sigh, then suddenly turned to embrace his son hard. He murmured in Elvish, voice worried, into his son's ear. "He has not hurt you, has he? I thought my eyes were deceiving me ... He is a mortal! There will be only pain from this, leaf, in a few years; you know what will happen then, the Gift of Mankind ... He will leave you one day one way or another; I do not want you to be in more pain."

Legolas was part nervous, part relieved that his father began to loose some of his tension. "Adar, I .. love Éomer. He cares for me deeply, and I care for him. He will not harm me, he never has in the past either! And I have never harmed him." _'The time we met on the plains of Rohan, spears against bow, does not count, does it? I never touched him or anyone else, for that part.'_

Thranduil pulled away hearing his son's answer. He was aware of the looks Éomer gave the pair, not understanding a word they had said. He was also aware of other people's gazes, and especially Galadriel's – who could not feel her eyes? She could see right through him.

"So you two are ...? And for_ how long _have you been with each other like this?!" Thranduil sent his son a sharp look.

Legolas replied automatically. "Yes, we are, father. We have ... been together for a few weeks." He lowered his gaze a little seeing his father's wide eyes. "Over a month."

"A month?" Thranduil's eyes were like piercing knifes, and Éomer forced himself to meet his gaze. It was like the elven king's sharp look sliced right through him. "How dare you?! Ion, explain to me _why_ you are doing such things _with a __**man**_?!" The elven king's gaze flashed oevr to his son again. Truly, he was worried, in reality more worried than wrathful but as was common to him, he replaced concern with anger.

"I ... We are in love," Legolas said at last.

Thranduil blinked. In love? With a man? "What about the child, ion? Your past lover, the father?" he muttered in elvish. "Ai, you are too young and rash in your decisions! Did you even think? I shouldn't have let you go so easily, had I known you would cause me so much trouble and grief!" he drew a breath, gathering his wits again.

In the corner of his eye, he saw that his outburst had drawn many pairs of eyes to them. Just that moment, King Aragorn hooked arm with his spouse Arwen and made it over to one of the doors, announcing they would retire, and therefore drawing attention to themselves. Not all attention, though. Lifae was distantly watching father, son and man, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. What trouble had the youngster caused now? He'd said he would go to sleep and yet here he was, half and hour later, managing to bring his father into a row. The man, Éomer, he recognized, was clearly involved.

Lifae did not like it. Why could not Legolas be calm like his mother had been, much easier to keep an eye upon?

The elven guard was not the only one watching. Lord Elrond was quite sure there would be an outcome of this that either would change Thranduil or Thranduilion; by the Lord's side the twins were snickering and if Legolas had caught their glances he would know what they were thinking. 'Even if he's a good match it's a bit overrated to get your father into it all. Can't you see the look on his face?'

"I am the one to be blamed for this behavior yet I cannot say I am fully sorry for it, King Thranduil," Éomer said in a bit testily tone. If he was nervous, it only showed in his eyes. Even if he was a grown man, a King even, standing before the how many millennium old father of the elf he loved did take many of his wits to handle. He had heard of the elven king's temper, much caused by the loss of his wife, Legolas' mother. Now was a time he needed to say something that lay very dear to his heart and it almost frightened him. "... I believe we need to speak in private." In a lover voice, he added, "For I ask for your son's hand. In marriage."

Thranduil eyed him and Legolas for a very long moment. Every heartbeat sounded loud enough for the whole Hall to hear, Éomer was sure; every beat pounded against his ribcage and he found his hands were sweaty. What it Thranduil said no? Or more importantly, if he said yes? What if he really -?

Legolas swallowed. Had Éomer just said out loud that they wished to marry? 'Father will not accept', he thought. 'Was Éomer an elf then yes, but now Éomer is no elf ...' He almost dared not to hope for a positive answer. The prospect of marrying Éomer was something he wished for yet, in a way, he was a bit afraid. How would the world react? What he knew, Men never had marriage between two males.

"Come with me," the elven king finally said. "We can find privacy in my chambers." As he started leading the anxiously waiting pair, silently followed by Lifae, he kept on glancing back at King Éomer. If the man ever hurt his son, the elf knew he _would _punish him.

--

Thranduil's rooms were wide and white, holding a small hearth surrounded by chairs by one of the walls. The sleeping chamber was connected by an open door, only shielded by a white curtain to give some privacy. Man and elves took seat by the unlit hearth, Éomer by Legolas' side, the younger elf next to his father. Lifae – who Thranduil and Legolas knew was shadowing them – stayed outside the door, giving them privacy yet always near as usual, ready to interrupt and protect if necessary.

At first, the silence was tense and uncomfortable and Legolas felt his heart racing. This kind of nervous fear had he not had while running and hiding for those short secret moments with Egil; they had been secret. No, this felt worse, like being one such a moment of secretively and being discovered. Two pairs of eyes rested on him.

Time passed before Thranduil spoke, addressing his son. "Legolas ... Would you truly live with him for ...for the rest of his life? Mortal years pass quickly ... I do not wish to lose you." There was true sadness in Thranduil's voice.

"Adar." Legolas almost begged for an answer, a yes. "I love him. This is what I want."

Éomer's gaze flexed between father and son. "What of you, Éomer, King of Rohan?" Thranduil demanded a bit hotly. An evil plan formed in the elf's mind, in case the man disproved of any promises he made and harmed Legolas: a plan involving doing some ... painful ... things with certain parts of Éomer's body. There was no need to voice any threats; the elf's sharp gaze was enough for the man.

"I will love your son for all of my life, care for him and protect him and our child." Our child. Had he really called Legolas' unborn babe theirs? But yes, he felt like a father of that child, even though he was not in blood or flesh. A small part of his mind reminded him that it was a possibility that one day, he too would father a child, his and Legolas' child; there was a chance his heir would be the son of Legolas as well. It made his heart swell to unnatural proportions to think such a thought.

Legolas could not help let a mutter slip from his lips; why did everyone think him like a weak child all the time? "I do not always need protection like an elfling ..."

The tone could not hinder Thranduil from a small smile, but it faded quickly as he realized what he was sitting here doing. He was deciding if his son should marry this man; he was deciding whether he would lose his child now or not. His little leaf had grown so quickly. Thranduil had decided months ago that he, and those of his people that wished it, would sail for Valinor. Mirkwood would soon fall and perish like all other elven realms. He knew his son was too stubborn to leave yet, to in love with Arda and all it possessed ...

But back then Thranduil had planned that Legolas would remain in Mirkwood with those who wished it. Now the forest stood so empty and leaderless, with no heir to take up the throne. Not only would he lose his son by this decision, he would lose Mirkwood, give it up for nature to rule over empty elven cities, for Men to take over that part of Middle-Earth like everywhere else. He was not sure if he was ready to let go ... What of the elves that remained? Would they go, leave the homes they had had for centuries, for Imradis or the fading Lothlórien? Imradis still stood, led by Elrond's sons. It was a safe refuge – but like all elven settlements it had passed into autumn.

Thranduil breathed deeply. He was ready to let go. After all, his people were now safe and who said the few that remained need a great King to rule over them? They lived in harmony with nature. And nature was still out there. And his son, he was a free creature and if this was his will, something that made him happy ... _'My little leaf has grown up.'_ ... And Éoemr was a King, wealthy, strong, and with a good heart as far as he had learned: he was a man that could take care of his son.

"Yes," he breathed. A little louder he repeated, "Yes. I grant your wish, Ion nîn, and King Éomer. You have my permission to wed, and my luck."

Legolas was speechless. His father ... said .. yes? He never thought that his father would-would-

It was more a shock mixed with joy than anything else. For a moment he stared agape at his father, who smiled softly, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. Then all energy returned to the younger elf and he came to his feet, dragging Éomer with him, and threw himself in the man's arms. He was on the verge of tears. It was like a heaviness had lifted from his heart when Éomer returned the embrace with a laugh, arms tightening around him.

"Thank you, ada, thank you, thank you," Legolas babbled. "I cannot believe this ..."

Éomer smiled into the elf's hair. "But is a bit scary to have one with your father's temper as my father-in-law," he whispered into his ear, loud enough for only Legolas to hear; the soft words could not even Thranduil hear. It made Legolas laugh uncertainly. He was not so sure his father would enjoy hearing that for a man he did not know so well yet.

"Do not worry, love," Legolas chuckled. "He is not as bad as he seems."

Éomer pulled back from the embrace. He had not expected the elven King to say yes. "I thank you, my lord," he said with a small bow.

The answer was a slight smile and a nod in return. "I trust you to handle my son now, King Éomer," he said. "But I do warn you, I am ready to take him back any day, if anything ever ..." He let the rest hang unspoken, letting the agreement go between them. Éomer understood the weight of every word.

Thranduil embraced his son, muttering elvish words in his ear that Éomer could not either disguise nor understand, and shook hands with Éomer. Legolas could not help thinking that it was probably was the closest his father ever had come to a man. He had never touched Aragorn; that he shook hands with Éomer was a bit surprising. Mayhap he was only imprinting the warnings in the man's mind, making sure he understood his responsibility and how lucky he was.

"You should retire, my son," Thranduil said, back to his formal self. The only noticeable change was in his deep eyes. "You know I must leave tomorrow," he added. Legolas nodded. His father had spoken about the departure for a few days now.

The elf's arm rested around Éomer's waist. "Yes, adar," he said, then looked at Éomer. "You should also sleep."

"I will. Goodnight, King Thranduil, and thank you. If I have your permission, I will escort your son to his quarters."

Legolas could not stop smiling like a fool even when Thranduil's softened gaze heated a little, just to make sure the man would not try anything when being alone with his son. Not that the would dare. They where not married yet, and Legolas was pregnant.

Lifae stood waiting outside the hall. He had heard the last few minutes cheering and raised an eyebrow at the pair. Éomer seemed surprised at seeing the quiet elf waiting, but Legolas, used as he was to the presence, smiled. "May I ask what has happened, my prince?" Lifae wondered in Sindarin.

"Éomer and I, we are engaged," Legolas replied happily in the same tongue. Éomer did not understand anything but realized Legolas must be speaking of them since his own name was mentioned.

"Congratulations, My Prince," Lifae said, and flickered his gaze over to Éomer. He knew not this man very well - he did not know any man very well – but he had seen him before, sometimes in company of the Prince. "King Éomer," he murmured in Westron. He offered no more words. Éomer wondered if the small tug of lips was a smile or not.

The pair continued down the hall; Legolas had told Lifae to join his father instead of following, with the prompted promise that nothing would happen between him and Éomer. The man would just take him to his rooms and then leave for his own. As usual it took a few moments before Lifae complied.

"He seems ... dedicated," Éomer murmured.

Legolas chuckled. "Aye, that he is. He had watched me since the day I was born two millennia ago ..."

They fell into silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Legolas' arms still rested around the man's waist; Éomer held him close while they walked, their hands clasped. His hear twas still singing.

As they passed a window in the corridor they paused for a moment. Mithrandir had gone into another row of fireworks. The sky, now dark in the evening, was filled with brilliant stars in a thousand colours, playing across the void before their fell towards the ground and faded.

"It is most spectacular," Legolas said. He wondered how Mithrandir had come by such an invention as fireworks. It was a beautiful show on the sky. Maybe one day, his own babe would see this as well; like he had been a child the first time he saw Mithrandir and his fireworks. "How strange it will be when Mithrandir no longer will be here lighting the sky on occasions like this."

"Maybe I can purse him to give us his secrets of them," Éomer said, shifting to stand behind the elf, hands resting atop of the swollen stomach. "After all, would it not be wonderful to marry under those flashing lights? It is like the stars comes a bit closer ..." He pressed a kiss on the elf's golden head.

"Yes," Legolas smiled. "That would be wonderful ..."

For many minutes they stood holding one another, staring up at the twinkling sky; a crescent moon glinted just within eyesight. Beyond the fireworks that came and faded were everlasting stars staring down at them, and shining the clearest was the Evening Star. It was a fine clear night. The wide open window let in crisp air flexing their hair.

After a while Legolas spoke in a low voice not to startle his love. "I feel tired ... Would you take me to my chambers now?"

"Yes." Éomer took his hand and they began walking again. It was a surprise when, after some time, they met a red-eyed dwarf with copper hair array, his helmet gone from his head. The dwarf looked a bit lost, staring up at them before speaking, not so sure what to think.

"Erm, 's that you, laddie? Lego-lass?"

Legolas forced himself to contain his chuckle and take some pity on the dwarf. "Dear friend Gimli," he said. "You are not lost are you?"

"Me? Lost? Nah don' you think that now, laddie," Gimli slurred. "What're ye doin' here anyway, the feasts's down there ... partyin' all around ... Eh, Kin' Éomer?" he suddenly wondered, as if seeing the man for the first time. "Yer not down feastin' either?"

Éomer smiled and greeted the dwarf but did sent Legolas a raised eyebrow. He had a feeling this was not the first time Legolas saw the dwarf in this condition. "Nay, we are not, Master Gimli," Éomer said.

"We should take you to your rooms," Legolas said lightly. "Because we would not like a drunken dwarf stray around the corridors in the middle of night, all alone, do we? Come on, friend."

"I does kno' the way to me chambers meself, thankyouverymuch," Gimli protested. He gave the elf a hard stare. Then he frowned. "Wait a moment here, your hands ..." But he was not mistaken. The man and elf _were_ holding hands. "Now tell me laddie what's goin' on here?" he wondered suspicious.

Legolas still smiled, and glanced at Éomer. At his confirming look, he said, "We have betrothed ..."

"What?! Why didn' anyone tell me?"

The elf smirked. "Now someone told you."

The dwarf growled at the elf's light banter. "Well, well, I hope ye don' do anythin' stupid now laddie. I kno' ye." He turned to Éomer with a small, not so gracious bow. "Con-congratulations, an' be careful with the lad, no' always trust-able he isn't."

Éomer leaned into Legolas ear. "Is there something you did not warn me of?" he wondered with a small laugh. He was too happy to be truly suspicious about the dwarf words.

"Do not worry, you," Legolas said. "I am sure the dwarf is just a bit confused and needs to be off to bed," he teased, making said dwarf humph.

"Ye two are really engag'd aren't ye?" Gimli wondered again, truly intrigued despite to the dizziness and slight headache - taking that last glass of ale in the Great Hall to 'soothe his head' was not such a good idea anymore. He had suspected something had been off with the elven lad for a while now, though he had not been really sure; but Legolas had been spending a lot time alone or with this man lately, once or twice in the gardens or other such elvish places.

Legolas' eyes glittered with happiness. "Yes, Gimli. Yes we are."

Gimli flashed a grin at Éomer. "Remember what I told ye, King Éomer, I warn ye about the lad's behaviour sometimes ..."

Legolas wanted to protest but Éomer only laughed, holding the elf in a strong embrace. "I will remember, Master Dwarf."

Gimli nodded and started making his way past them, one hand guiding him by the held of the wall. The pair knew quite well that the wall had more with balance than guidance to do. Gimli disappeared around the corner behind them. Legolas hoped that he found his room and did not leave vomit after himself down the hall. The staff of the palace would not be pleased about it.

"Well that was interesting," Éomer said as they continued and soon found Legolas' room. Éomer remembered it since his last visit; lately someone had laid a soft carpet on the floor, making the room warmer and a bit more inviting. The thick glass windows were closed but the curtains drawn aside. Sometimes lights in green, red and purple flashed on the sky and against the wall, indicating the fireworks were still set on fire outside.

Legolas agreed with his statement with a nod. "Now you should go and find some sleep," Legolas said. He realized he had no idea where Éomer's current chambers were placed. Maybe he could ask tomorrow ...

"I bid you a good night."

Suddenly, Éomer pulled him into a kiss. Legolas relaxed in his embrace. When they pulled back, the slightly cold air of the room felt a little warmer. The elf smiled. Part of this felt still like a dream.

"... Good night."

_--_

Next morning, Legolas rose early. He dreaded – that was the best word to describe the feeling he had – this day because today his father would leave, with his people, and that could possibly mean he would not meet anyone from his own home for a time. For how long time he did not know – a month, more months, _a year _... Of course such time-spans were short for an elf, but right now, time felt like slow torture.

Deciding to betroth with Éomer had been a big step, tyeing him in a way that he could not simply leave to Mirkwood, unless Éomer would say he followed too. Éomer was stubborn ... And his father, Thranduil, had both explained that Legolas should stay here in Minas Tirith for his child's sake, even if he expressed his wishes at the same time that Legolas could go with him back home to the ancient forests. Truly, he missed Mirkwood, missed it deeply. But always could he visit. First, though, he needed to await his child, set up a peaceful home in Edoras with Éomer. He wanted his child to grow up safely. Already he wanted the babe in his arms. So much he worried about his little baby!

'_You need to relax more,' _he scowled himself again, as many times before;_ 'T'is thinking is not good. Mayhap Gimli is right, I am about to lose my head completely. Or, if I do not stop, his axe with serve once again in his hands and I rather do not be near him then ...'_

After washing and dressing, he made his way down the yet quite empty halls to find the kitchens. Only servants, a few of them, and guards, where expected to be awaken yet. The sun was showing it first rays over the horizon of the mountains. The people of the city were asleep, some, or many, suffering headaches after the wine. Probably, Gimli and his people were among them.

To his surprise, he found that Samwise was up, sitting eating and reading a book by the large private table of the Fellowship. The hobbit looked up when he entered the room and saluted.

"Hello, Sam," Legolas greeted. "I had not expected anyone to be up so early this morning."

Sam smiled and indicated him to sit beside him. "Aye, Mister Legolas, and I hadn't really though about going up so early, but then I woke by some, um ... loud snores ... One could only sleep so much when a drunken dwarf has toppled into your room by mistake, if y'know what I mean, sir!"

Legolas laughed softly, raising a delicate eyebrow. A drunk dwarf, wrong room? "Alas, was it Gimli going astray again?" he asked, sitting down.

"Um, yes, Mister Legolas, it was Mister Gimli. But what do you mean, 'again'?" Sam asked carefully, before reaching out for a basket and offering the elf some break and cheese. Legolas gladly accepted.

"Some weeks ago I found him in my room as well, on the floor leaning against the wall, looking quite molest I can say. He must have had many drinks; I did not envy him then and I will not this morning either. Sam, would you please pass me the cheese?" he added.

"Here you go, sir," Sam said and gave him the cheese.

"Have I not told you to only call me Legolas?" the elf asked, making the hobbit blush faintly. "Mister or sir makes me feel so old; and we are friends." He was hungry and the cheese and the bread was good, he noted in his mind as he started to eat.

Sam shut the book he had been reading, trying to busy himself with some food to get rid of the blush. "Old habits, you know, Mi- Legolas. Can't always help it."

Legolas smiled. One of his own bad habits always made Gimli and Aragorn almost mad. At least Gimli. Oh how the dwarf complained about his wandering mind all the time!

Silence, but not uncomfortable silence, settled between them. Legolas was glad the table was already set for people to eat; he did not wish to bother any tired servant to ask. He took a plate and filled it with some eggs and vegetables. There were also fruits left over since the feast yesterday, laid out to be hopefully eaten today instead of laying to rot; those grapes looked tasty.

"I heard you and Frodo, Pippin and Merry would leave for the Shire soon," he began, after a few minutes. It was slightly sad that all friends were departing now, that there might be months or years before they saw each other again – even if time was different for elves. His people were leaving, the halflings were leaving, Gimli would probably also leave quite soon with his kind ...

"Aye ... I miss home y'know, and there's my old Gaffer, my father that is, that I'm worried about. Don't want him gettin' himself in any sort of trouble ... He'd be wondering what I've been gone to all this time! And there's Mister Frodo, I think he miss the Shire even more than I do, but he's been slightly – I don't really know how to put it – withdrawn lately. Maybe old Shire isn't the best place for him, he doesn't speak so much about it anymore," Sam said, his face turning into a worried expression. "He's been lonely for a long while and this ... concern, y'know, it's gettin' on my nerves, Mister Legolas, I mean Legolas." He sighed, buried his hands in his pockets.

Legolas gave him a smile to soothe his worry, squeezing his shoulder gently. His eyes were serious and held also concern, but also slight understanding. He knew not of nor did he understand all that Frodo and Sam had gone through, how heavy the burned of the One Ring had been, but he could see that it still lingered deeply on Frodo's mind, like the lingering ache after you're removed the burden from your shoulders. There was pain in Frodo's heart; he saw it, and Sam did as well, and he was sure Gandalf and Aragorn knew even more. Mithrandir was the only one that had heard the whole account of their journey to Mordor since Frodo and Sam separated from the others.

"Old worries dies slowly," he murmured. He too had worries on his heart. "But he has many friends, and he does have Samwise the Brave by his side, hasn't he?" His smile broadened seeing the faint blush straining the hobbit's cheeks. "I am sure he will be fine one day. It may only take a while ..."

"Probably you're right, Legolas," Sam said, slowly resuming his meal. "You're an elf after all, and elves are supposed to be the wisest and most beautiful people of all. And I think you are wise and very, very beautiful," he added more quietly, causing Legolas to laugh softly.

"I am afraid that my father would not agree with you, Sam," Legolas said with a grin.

"Oh, he would not?" suddenly a new voice said. Startled, Legolas looked up and Sam stood, surprised as well. There in the doorway stood a tall silver-haired elf, dressed in green robes, a golden circlet upon his head. "Suddenly, my son knows my own judgment better than myself."

Legolas had not expected him to be here. At his side, Sam, who had since his last meeting with the elven king learned who the elf was – King of Mirkwood – looked a bit uncomfortable. He had never spoken to this elf, and knew nothing about how he was, though he had sometimes spotted him and Legolas in the gardens or corridors talking and laughing. Thranduil seemed different from Lord Celeborn or Lord Elrond, who both seemed rigid while Thranduil was more unfazed, shifting in his nature. Maybe it was some elven thing; maybe he was younger?

"Adar, what are you doing here so early?" Legolas wondered. His father was awake, that meant, his guards were awake as well, and that meant they were probably be ready to leave withing a few hours, or even minutes were it so. _'I do not want you to leave yet, ada_,' he thought, but said. "How did you find us?"

Thranduil gave him a look of seriousness but the corners of his lips tugged upwards. "That was no so hard, elfling dear. Age has nothing to do with hunting," was his blunt answer. "I came to see my son, but obviously that is not reason enough."

He turned to the other one in the room, a hobbit he could after a moment recognize from the feast yesterday. This hobbit's name was said many a time along with Frodo Baggins' on the streets and Mithrandir had explained the pair's great feat that had saved this world they knew. "Greetings to you, Samwise Gamgee," he said, nodding his head.

"Erm, hello, Mister, King Thranduil," Sam said_._

Thranduil sat down next to Legolas, joining their breakfast. It took some time, but gradually, Sam spoke to him directly as well and mostly ended up asking about Mirkwood and elves. He could never get enough of elves.

They were only interrupted by the sound of a ringing bell, loud enough to wake nearby sleepers with hangovers, Legolas thought. That signal meant it was mid-day already, and that meant, his father was about to leave within this hour. Had time passed so quickly already? And, damn it, why?

Thranduil looked up towards the small high window across the room, thinking for a moment, before he turned to his son. "Will you meet me by the White Tree and say goodbye before I leave?" he asked in Sindarin.

Legolas nodded with a small sad smile. "I will, ada."

Thranduil stood and left. Sam frowned a little, not understanding the elvish part of the conversation."Can I ask what that was about, Legolas?"

"My father is leaving for Mirkwood," Legolas explained. "I will meet him by the White Tree and take goodbye; I may not see him for months." He turned to Sam, asking suddenly; "Do want to come with me?"

---

With half a dozen waiting elven horses, Thranduil and his guards were preparing to leave. As they rode without saddles, they wore packs on their backs next to their quivers with arrows instead of using saddlebags. Two or three elves were already waiting upon their horses' backs, and Legolas was a little surprised to see Lifae standing next to his father without any horse; with a quick count in his head he realized there were one horse too few gathered for the riders. He frowned. They had come riding everyone and not sharing horses; was Lifae or someone else going to stay?

His father had the rights do to so, to command an elf under his charge to stay here, of course; Legolas knew that. He just wasn't sure if it was right, or comfortable for the elf that would stay – stay to guard him. He could figure out that even had he been drunk. But he knew arguing with his father would go nowhere, except maybe not one but_ two _elves staying here to keep watch over him, like hawks.

Thranduil pulled him aside from the group, and the hobbit, Sam, that was watching with interest and even had talked to one or two of the elves – but not all of the elves could speak Westron fluently so the conversion was a little foggy and staggering.

"You will take care, son, will you not?" Thranduil asked.

"Of course, adar," Legolas replied. "I promise."

His father smiled and pulled him into an embrace. "I hope I can trust you, ion," he murmured, laughing slightly. "I spend all my time fretting over you ... and lately this little one of yours", Thranduil added, gently laying a hand on his son's swollen belly, receiving a small kick.

Legolas smiled back at his father's surprised expression at the movement. "You will visit soon, will you not, little leaf?" Thranduil asked after a moment. "Mirkwood misses you."

"I will come, ada; I miss Mirkwood as mush they miss me," Legolas said quietly. "I will long for being back with you."

Again he was pulled into an embrace, stronger this time, and he felt his father sigh. "I wish I did not have to leave this early, little leaf, but ..." He paused. "Send me letters, so much as possible. Come visit as soon as you can. I will come to you greet your little one, of course, and I will be awaiting yours and King Éomer's wedding."

The latest statement caused Legolas to blush. Wedding ... it gladdened him that his father was positive, even though Legolas and Éomer only had had plans of a wedding maybe one day in a few weeks. Maybe, his father waited for a wedding because he wanted it to be proper, not because he was positive about it ... He shifted a little uncomfortably in his father's arms and pulled away slightly.

"There is one of the horses missing," he said suddenly. "Adar, are you leaving one of your guards behind?"

"Yes, there is, and yes, I do. No," Thranduil interrupted, raising his hand, when Legolas opened his mouth to protest, "No objections, little leaf. I have put Lifae to guard you. I trust him and you do as well. I know how much like a family member he is to you, so I realize he is the best to guard you." He laid one hand each on Legolas' shoulders, looking him into the eye.

"I do not want you to feel lonely, ion nîn. Among Men ... elves tend to get lonely, and I know you love Éomer and he loves you, but you need your own kind nearby. And Lifae has no objections against this, you do not start pursuing me to let him follow me back to Mirkwood. Actually, he was the one who came up with this idea and offered himself to stay. I know he knows not Westron well, but he is a fast learner, and he will have much time here to learn and many people to learn from. He will keep you and your child safe. And King Éomer, if he allows it."

Legolas sighed but managed a smile; for once his father's stubbornness was not given any objections. "All right, adar. I suppose I can live with that." Now all his private time would be reduced to about five minutes a day, but on the other hand, Lifae wasn't a stranger. He was almost like a second father _– or maybe mother? - _which he had lived with whole his life. '_Only, Éomer is not going to like it,'_ he thought.

Thranduil straightened and motioned over to Lifae to come over. Sam watched them with interest as the two blonds and the one dark-haired elf spoke in what he guessed was Sindarin, all three looking very serious, at least until Legolas' face broke into a grin and he said something hugging his father and said one word that Sam recognized; "Namárië."

Thranduil and his elves mounted, leaving Legolas and the dark-haired elf standing by the newly planted White tree, Sam nearby. For a moment the elven king paused and turned to look at the three companions left, giving one of them a sharp look as if to remind about something. The raven elf said nothing, simply nodded with a small graceful smile, and then Thranduil was on his way.

_--_

Three days passed without any incidents or certain events, and Legolas felt like someone had decided to stop time, turn it back a little and replay and replay it again and again, the same day over and over ...

So it was a surprise when he came to Gimli's room to find him packing. Gimli had not much things with him here but the dwarves that had arrived had given him clothing and weapons for two. At the moment, Gimli's wardrobe – one alike to the ones that stood in every room, including Legolas' too – stood empty and ajar. Legolas paused in the doorway, raised an eyebrow, then frowned.

The dwarf still claimed he remembered nothing from the part of the wedding when he had been drunk, thought Legolas had a feeling he lied. Maybe he had done something ... which Legolas did not want to find out ... with the other dwarves and those elves.

"Ahem. Gimli?"

Gimli jumped, startled, turning on his heels. Legolas' blue gaze was met with a glare. "Damnit elf, do you wish to give me a heart attack! All elves are the same. You never know where you have them. Why do all of you have to be so damned silent on your feet? I think I'll make a pair of iron-heeled shoes for you just so that I predict where you'd show up next."

Legolas snickered, before walking inside. The room's windows were opened wide and the curtains drawn aside, a soft breeze blowing at the fabrics. Leaning next to the wall by the door were Gimli's two axes – waiting, almost begging, for the owner to pick them up for use.

"Gimli, are you leaving?" he asked suddenly.

Gimli paused what he was doing. His boots stood by the foot of the made bed. Legolas saw for the first time he was barefoot.

"Yes, I am leaving. In a few hours, it seems. My friends are packing as well. And do not ask, Aragorn knows, and I will go see the hobbits and Gandalf about it."

Legolas' frown smoothed a little. "Why did you not tell me sooner? And where are you going? To Erebor, I suppose, and your people?"

To his surprise the dwarf shook his head. "No, not Erebor. I spoke with the horse-lord, King Éomer, some time ago ... and he has given me permission to start building a dwarven colony in Aglarond. Actually that was some two weeks ago, still we are making some last agreements and decisions, but when we leave today everything will be ready," Gimli explained, sitting down on the bed next to his pack. He wore not his chain mail, or helmet, though they were laying on a chair across the room, next to the wardrobe. No doubt, he would wear that later when they traveled.

Legolas stood like frozen for a time, and did not speak. He had known for a long time that eventually they would all leave and the fellowship would split, but he never realized it would be so _soon._

"Look, lad, I want you to come and visit sometime," Gimli said. "Bring Éomer with you. It's quite nearby, you know that, to Edoras. We dwarves can do wonders in a short time and when you arrive, the walls of Helm's Deep with be ten times as thick and just as strong. And remember our agreement; you promised to see the Glittering Caves with me. What a wonder to live there! A whole system of caverns to explore and they are beyond magnificent!"

Finally Legolas reacted with a small, sad smile. Oh yes, of course he remembered. "I hope your memory is well also, because we will visit Fanghorn, you and I, and I will take no excuses."

Gimli made a small sigh and shuddered. "What a dreadful, _leafy_ thought," he said. "No excuses? Even if I might ... say, break my leg and never be able to walk again?"

"Bones heal, Gimli, and either way, I could always carry you. I do have muscle too, if you have forgotten that."

Gimli grumbled something under his breath but his face broke into a grin. "But why are we talking so much nonsense all the time!" he exclaimed. "As I said, back to the point, visit me. I heard you and Éomer are travelling to Edoras?"

"Yes, we are. Why?"

"Why not travel with me?" he wondered. "Or in a few weeks, then you can come to me later, once you've found yourself at home in those stables." Legolas laughed at the snorted remark, but it faded seeing Gimli's frown.

Legolas took seat on the bed. His back ached. "What is it, Gimli?"

"Just ... nothing. Just a thought," the dwarf said thoughtfully, pulling at his beard. "I was thinking about your child. Maybe visiting me would be ... an inappropriate time right now? I mean you're due in, what is it, just two months ..."

"... A little more than one," Legolas righted him. It surprised him a little that the topic came up. Gimli was still not fully comfortable with his pregnancy. Or maybe he was but only worried all the time. _'I swear, when Lifae is not nearby mothering me, Gimli is, and when he is not, Lifae is! Have they come to a secret agreement here?'_

"...One already? Wasn't it four the other day?" Gimli asked trying to sound light, when the prospect of Legolas being a father – or was it mother? - was a bit frightening. Childbirth was a risky operation after all ... "Anyway, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to move around too much, knowing how flighty you elves are – and especially you, lad."

Legolas just smiled and shook his head at Gimli's worries. "Look, Gimli, I am not incapable of taking care of myself, and I will visit you. If not in two months, then afterwards. Éomer and I will journey to Edoras in two weeks; Gandalf, Aragorn and the halflings will come with us. We have decided to split up there. Aragorn and Gandalf have offered themselves to escort the hobbits to Shire's boarders. I believe that Lady Arwen will follow us to, at least to Edoras, before she heads back here to Minas Tirith. I would be glad if you visit me someday in Edoras as well. Maybe," he added almost like an afterthought, "you want to wait and then journey with us? Would your fellow dwarves object to stay for two more weeks, Gimli?"

Gimli remained silent while he thought of it. In the end, he answered, "I am afraid I cannot wait. Some of my cousins have already journeyed to Aglarond, waiting for me. I could, though, meet you at Edoras in two or three weeks time. How does that sound, laddie?"

Legolas smiled. "It will have to do, if you are sure -"

"-absolutely sure, lad, I assure you-"

"-you have to go to Aglarond, then you must hurry to Edoras as soon as you can. There will be a feast, eating, drinking, dancing ... I believe you like Rohan's ale, at least you did last time we were there, if I remember correctly. Am I right, my friend?"

This caused Gimli to cough. "Didn't I warn you not to ever mention-"

"Sorry, Gimli. I was only teasing," Legolas said. He stood, trying to stretch his yet aching muscles in his back and legs. Then suddenly something caught his eye. Something hidden; a bit of a cloth under the chain mail. When he walked over to it, Gimli suddenly cried out and pulled him away.

"Gimli, what -?"

"Um, that's nothing, nothing, just something unimportant you really _must not see._" The dwarf promptly proceeded to pull him out from the room, away from that cloth. Legolas huffed. "Now, what about a walk, lad?" the dwarf suggested, and Legolas gave him a look as if he was out of his mind and had shaved off his beard.

"What about getting you a bath then, lad?"

Legolas snorted. What was the dwarf doing? Had he fallen on a rock and hit his head? "Gimli, what has gotten into you?" he asked with a frown.

His friend did not answer him; he glanced around the corridor and shut the door to his room, locking it, still holding onto Legolas' arm.

"_Dwarf_, I believe you can let me go _now_ ..."

"Laddie, now calm down. I'm about to show you something."

Without releasing his arm, Gimli forcibly led him down the hall and soon outside. More precisely, to the large yard of stone, which middle held the growing White Tree. Gimli then took him to the side of the palace building, to a corner by the gate which Legolas had never thought of before. There stood something, hiding under a large grey fabric. Strange that he had never seen it before, nor anyone else. It was such an obvious place outside the King's halls.

Gimli pulled the sheet off to reveal a statue. A statue of Boromir. The man was made in white marble, raised upon a small block. He had his sword unsheathed, arms raised to the sky in a gesture of victory. By his neck was the fastening of a Lórien cloak. By his side hung the horn which he always had carried with him; his round shield was hung over his back. The whole statue was very detailed and well done, almost looking living, had it not been for the stone's paleness.

"We're finishing off the last few details now before we leave. You see, we have built this standing upon a platform with wheels like a wagon so once its finished we will take it inside. Or rather Aragorn's people will," Gimli said. "This was one of my most detailed, short-time projects so far. It was a great pleasure ..."

Legolas regarded the statue for a moment in silence. "You did this?" he wondered then. "Alone? It is well done, my friend," he had to admit, even though he never had appreciated stone in general. This was not only an artwork. By the foot of the statue there was a board made of metal, with an inscription written with the runes used by mankind, though below the same text was repeated in Sindarin: 'In memory of a great warrior and friend.' Obviously Gimli had had help from Aragorn with the elvish text, for as far as he knew Gimli knew no elvish more than a struggling word or two.

"I had some help with the basic carvings and the inscriptions but yes, most of this did I make alone." Gimli patted the stone admiringly. "I was to my great honour I made this piece. In memory of a friend."

Legolas was a little surprised at the statement, not knowing what the dwarf and man had thought of each other, and now he would probably never found out. He regretted a little that he had never been able to know Boromir as a friend; they had not been very close, since Boromir distrusted elves, or at least until Lothlórien ...

He was not sure what to say now; Gimli started to speak again instead. "Now, I've shown you this, and I want to you to do a small favor for me. As I'm going to leave, I trust you to give Faramir this. Aragorn and I decided this will be a gift for him in memory of his brother. I heard a memorial will be held soon for him here in Minas Tirith. I can trust you this much, right lad? I'm afraid I cannot afford loosing this piece of art."

Legolas nodded, understanding the importance of the request. He smiled. "Do not worry. It's not glass; it don't break so easily ..."

Gimli threw him a warning glare. "I am really growing a bit anxious here, flighty elves all around. Aragorn is much more trustworthy."

"Even though he has elven blood in his veins, has been fostered by elves, lived among them, has married an elf (who must have influenced him one way or another), and does speak as much riddles as us sometimes?" Legolas wondered with a raised eyebrow.

"Even then, laddie," Gimli stated stubbornly. "Even then. Aragorn does yet contain some sense."

_--_

While a certain dwarf and elf were talking, Lifae had been sent off by the prince for what Legolas had called 'five minutes of freedom'. That meant, Lifae was alone in a city of men and Legolas had probably locked himself in somewhere with the dwarf to be certain not to have any sharp elven eyes prying.

He found himself to wander around in the palace, but not further, as he needed to be nearby. Gently, he stretched out his mind, to be guided to somewhere near nature. His feet led him soon to a garden, quite small and open, giving also a view of mountains over the high bushes. Flower beds were made in circles at different places on the green grass. There were no people here. Standing in the garden were two young trees.

Lifae withdrew his mind and concentrated to find contact with the young trees. To say at least, they were young. They seemed excited feeling an elf being here, and they started to babble. They spoke of how other elves had been here, one talking with them just like him, an elf named Legolas; but this information spilled over in a second and blurry words.

Lifae blinked, a little startled. These two were different from any tree he had ever seen grow in Mirkwood, and with his three millennium, it was not quite a few.

Then suddenly he was alerted by another presence; he quickly turned around and reached for his knife, the one he always carried with him at a small belt on his thigh. He stretched out his mind at the same time; there was no respond mentally, so this was no wood-elf coming and likely no elf at all. He lowered his knife; he knew he was being too tense. There was no danger here, and he felt nothing ill in the mind of whoever was approaching.

To his surprise he saw a boy coming towards him, with dark tousled hair on top of his head. He looked no older than a seventeen year old elfling, but then again, this was a human not an elfling so Lifae could not know his age. The boy's face lit up at seeing him, like he had found what he was searching for.

"Hello, Master elf!" he greeted. "Are you the one called ... Lifae?"

Lifae put back the knife in its sheath. "That is I, young one," he said, wondering what this human boy wanted.

The child looked relieved. "Phew, I've searched the whole place just to find you. Luckily, the guards recognized you so I could ask my way here. My father, Beregond, asked me to find you." He took a deep breath. He had said it in one go. He used to run errands for his father quite often though he had never been asked to find a person before; only to shop food and the like. And an elf! Who was he, really? His father had not said much. But he was being lucky, he knew. First he had met a hobbit and talked with him and now an elf. What next – a dwarf? He'd like that!

"... All right. Where is he, your father?" Lifae answered slowly. Beregond was seeking him? Why? _'This must be one of his sons, probably his eldest. Was he not eleven, no ten, years old?' _"Are you ... Bergol? Beregond told me of you." He saw now, upon a closer look, this child had his father's eyes. Wait, why did he remember Beregond's eyes so clearly?

The boy's brows shot up. "Really? It's Bergil, by the way. Yes, it's me. I will show you to my father."

Lifae nodded his understanding and let the boy lead him from the garden, down the hall. He had thought only guards and certain guests were allowed here but maybe this boy, Bergil, could be here thanks for his father. There was a moment of silence, then Bergil spoke up. He was only ten, so he was full of questions at meeting something so foreign as an elf.

"Where do you come from, Master Lifae?" he wondered. "My father didn't tell me."

"_Taur-nu-Fuin_; Mirkwood, you can hearded of it," Lifae explained.

Bergil suddenly frowned, at the elf's lack of grammar. Even he spoke better than that, at least in company of others ... Well, elders. "I know. There are a lot of stories about Mirkwood but they won't let me hear all of them. Are there really giant spiders there? Really? How big are they?"

Lifae's lips tugged a little upwards. "There are spiders, yes. Yes, they are large. About ... " He stretched his arms out so far he could "... this large and bigger than."

Bergil looked at him for a second, then shuddered.

"There are yrch too, orc in your tongue. But most start to be gone, now the Dark One fallen," Lifae said then fell silent. He knew not if he should tell much more about the darkness of his home, which the boy seemed so keen about to know; many things, most things, were not for children's ears to hear. "Our home is light now ... life easier, not so much battles any longer. It's safe now. Like Gondor."

"That's a pity," Bergil suddenly said. "I want to fight orcs like father at least _once_!"

Lifae gave him a serious look. If Bergil heard what happened to most men, and elves, at battlefields, no matter what race they fought against, he maybe would not be so keen on fighting anymore. Actually, Lifae wished that this boy never would need to fight more than in self-defense and hopefully never at all. So much innocence was stolen by war. Finally it was over, even if it would take many years before everything would be better and most effects from the war erased.

The boy led him from the palace, upward to one of the guard's towers, those which were places all around the city to keep watch and to help the people in case there was an emergency. This one had two floors, even though it was small. At the moment, three men were sitting eating when Bergil arrived with his ... guest. Lifae relaxed a little. To see Beregond in privacy would be more uncomfortable than seeing him in the company of others. The men eyes him with both interest and slight suspiciousness. '_What, after all, does an elf has to do here?'_ Lifae thought. _'I should be watching Prince Legolas' back, which always is in need of guarding, not be across the citadel with these Men ...'_

But then their frowns smoothened out to welcoming grins. Beregond sent his son back home, even though the boy tried to protest. "Go back, Bergil, I need you to watch your little brother for some time."

"But ... "

"Later, son."

The boy sighed, but was off.

One of the men, with dark-blonde hair, stood, just having finished his meal and his companion followed his example. _'Great,'_ Lifae thought. _'So I'll be alone with him, after all. Has this to do with the wedding? It was just a dance ... And even if I do like him, I do not know if it is_ that way_ I like him – too short time has passed! I have known his name for three days and _him_ for not more than two hours!'_

"Why you want talk with me?" he asked, hoping he did not sound too stiff in his tone.

"There is something I want to tell you. But ... To be honest, I just wanted to see you," Beregond said with a small smile.

Lifae raised an elegant eyebrow. "Even at working?" He could not help but think; _'What if the Prince calls for me now? What if he needs my aid?' _but then resigned himself, knowing that Legolas was with the son of Glóin, who was a dwarf but a very trusted dwarf. If any danger arose, Gimli could erase it, if Legolas' tales about the dwarf were true. And Legolas was a warrior.

"I will not talk for long and you do not need to stay if you do not want to. What I have to say is quite important."

Lifae pushed his thoughts away and sat down, next to the man. For a moment Beregond was quiet. From upstairs, in the watch tower, they heard the two other men talking. "I have been banished from Minas Tirith," he said at last.

Before Lifae could say anything, he explained what had happened at the last battle here in Minas Tirith, how he had killed a guard to protect Faramir's life and give Gandalf enough time to save him. The prize would have been execution, if not for Elessar's judgment, and now he was appointed to guard Faramir and his wife as they were to live in Ithilien.

"I have heard that Prince Legolas and King Éomer of Rohan are to move to Edoras and since you are his guard, I thought ... you were going to come with them. Edoras is quite far away, I know, but Ithilien is nearer than Minas Tirith. I will be able, if Lord Faramir allows me, to visit you one day ..."

Lifae stared at him for a moment. "You ... we, we do not know ... and what do you ...?" He struggled with the words. Was Beregond implying ...? "It was only dancing once, on wedding."

Beregond nodded. "I know, I know, I just want to know you more. I have friends, but no one as peculiar as you, Lifae. I can stay away if you do not want me near," he added quickly.

Lifae shook his head. "No, not away. I ... is just ... not comfortable."

Beregond raised an eyebrow at that. He lowered his voice to not be overheard, suddenly a little afraid that he was confessing this at all. "I am not going to lie to you, Lifae, I ... I think I want more than just friendship with you."

He felt stunned. That was not the first time someone had given him such a confession, but it had never worked out before, and having someone ... maybe even a family ... It would stop him from doing his duty – to protect Prince Legolas. Now he also needed to protect Legolas' family; his lover, his child. To have an own lover would take so much attention, yet ... Yet he knew he wanted it as well, with someone. But with a man, and this man? No Man had before told him such a thing. He had met Beregond only three days ago! And he was a Man, a mortal – while he, Lifae, was immortal. Such relationship were so often doomed; Lifae could not help the quiver of fear in his stomach and he pictured for a moment Legolas and King Éomer and what could - would - happen them in the end.

Beregond studied the elf's face. The frown on the handsome face grew and the eyes were full of deep seriousness, a concern, almost a sadness ...

Then Lifae shook his head a little. "I do know not. We cannot ... We be friends, but not ..."

"Why?"

Lifae sighed over having to explain it. "I am immortal. An elf. You are ... " He paused, letting out a deep breath. "... Mankind." He did not want to insult him calling him a mortal, but both new it was true. Most relationships between mortal and immortal were doomed to fail and only end with sadness; that had been one of Lord Elrond's greatest fears when he found out that Aragorn and Lady Arwen were in love. That was also the same fear that Thranduil felt for his son; the elven king did not wish Legolas' heart to break, which it would one day, in many years, once Éomer died ...

The man swallowed. "Only friendship?"

Lifae's frown, that just had started to smoothen, deepened again. "Only? Friendship strong. We can be friends. But not be further."

Beregond resisted the urge to take the elf's long, smooth hand. He still remembered freshly the wedding, the evening with the feast, the dance; how this elf had caught his eye at once even through the mass of people and other elves present. There were at least two dozen of elves still in the city. "... All right. But send me a message, please, sometime. I would like to know how you are. I will leave for Ithilien in seven days."

_--_

Pale naked feet hurried over stone. Whatever shoes those feet had been wearing before, they had been so old and worn that they had broken and now they were gone. The shifting dim light in the dark room never focused clearly on the figure which made its way over to a door carved into the stone, in its natural stony surroundings almost impossible to spot. The figure, pale to skin but clad in thick black as the mountain's insides, was silent except for the tapping of his feet, scarred after walking naked on harsh ground, and the scrambling of iron. He fumbled with keys, they glinted in a torch's light.

The door opened with ease, remarkably new despite to the old abandoned chamber. His steps echoed within the silence. He took the torch and the large chamber covered in old webs and dust fell into darkness. The door slid shut behind him.

He hurried on, careful like in the forest outside to be clear no one had followed him. Time passed by, he crept like a shadow pale as moonlight down the stretching corridor. Long ago, dwarves had carved this out in the stone, but the work was abandoned, only half-done. The pale figure flinched at the sound of water hitting stone, dripping from somewhere above.

He had left his horse some mile from here, tied and secured, and hid the saddle. If the horse came loose, no one would realize where it had come from and the steed bore no saddle, or bags, or any marks. If anyone found it, they would think it had come from nowhere.

He could smell rotten bodies. In the corners lay skeletons covered with dust, old armours being eaten away by age. A weak shrilling shriek fell down the cave, an old body moved slightly, its armour rustling. A rat rushed across the path. Not a single time did he stop to watch this, or listen to the echoing sounds from deep down of this mountain. The blackness continued forever behind him. The road slipped down into the massive of earth itself and the air was thick by the heaviness of stone.

By time, he came deeper and deeper down. In his spider-like hand he held a piece of parchment in a firm grip; he would not let go. The risks were too great.

In the end, he found what he was searching for. This door was not made of rotten wood as the earlier ones leading here, but of solid stone and iron, holding barriers of strong metal. All for safety of what was and would be kept within. He entered the room with great haste, gasping for air. In here it was warmer, but slightly easier to breathe. Long shadows were cast in this room, only one of many down here, lit by torches.

"Master," he rasped.

In the center of the room was a person, bent by age with long white beard, his face wrinkled; but once he had been proud and when he straightened his back one could see his great height. His eyes glowed by an unknown power - he was not human, could impossibly be; but though even appearing mysterious, he might not be seen as dangerous or extraordinary when walking into villages during rainy days, bent by weather and age, cloaked in gray.

Hearing the raspy, snake-like voice, he turned. The pale figure flinched backwards some. He hated him and all this more than what one could imagine, but he had to do this. Had to. He had been promised a reward which he could not fight the temptation of.

"Gríma."

The voice which twisted so many minds and wills, lied in whispers, it was raw now but still deep.

Wormtongue shuffled himself forward to his master's feet and gave him the rolled parchments with trembling hands. The words made with red ink, no, blood, where written in a language almost unheard of, the letters dripping down the parchments like water. He stood silent while his master snatched it from his grip and read it through.

Time was short, but felt like ages before the old man lifted ancient, wrinkled eyes and nodded. He was pleased. This dog of a man was not so bad to have serving him after all._ 'It is almost a pity I have no use of but to kill him in the end.'_

Time was dire now. Gríma muttered into his master's ear that men and dwarves were moving this way, and if they were to settle down, this could go bad. This place was safe - this far. The old man cursed. They could not risk being discovered, for not yet had he enough men for a battle. Against halflings, mayhap, but not against men or dwarves, or elves. The men were too foolish to fight against more than one elf at the same time, and that was when they were in a group they dared to. One reason his plan would work, was just that; his men were in a group, and he only needed one elf ... Well, they might be strong but they were not sharp, so even if he killed them later he would not loose anyone of importance or high intelligence. He had no need for them except their swords.

The old ushered the pale man away; Gríma flinched and backed. He shivered at the man's mere presence, flinched at the mention of his name. But patience, he reminded himself yet again, patience what was he needed. But he had waited for months now ... All since he had returned to where is master was, months ago, he had waited while working for him, enduring so much pain and shame, and his thoughts had been a blur. To know that wait would be longer, that days or even weeks would pass before they could start acting, woke more impatience within him.

He could wait no longer ...

_--_

Time passed by peacefully; by the end of the same day, Gimli left with the rest of his people. It felt a bit lonely without him, or more than just a bit. Now there was silence where they had before been joking and bickering over things that only a dwarf and an elf can bicker about. Legolas sighed a little. It just was not the same doing it with Lifae or the twins.

Legolas was a bit worried about Lifae, it was not good for him to be among a race he had rarely met before without anyone but him as company of his own people. He decided he should not be so hard and teasing against him as before, stop acting like a silly child all the time. But it was hard, it was something he wanted to have safely in his grasp – the childish innocence, the naivety – and this was letting it slip away. He had always been a child of nature, one to go and do as he wished when times were not dire. One could not guess seeing him thus that he was over two centuries old. And he guessed that blaming it on that 'elves mature slower' would not help in the long race.

After Gimli had left, Legolas spent time with the hobbits, who luckily held much and maybe more of the spirit he did. Merry and Pippin had yet not declared peace with the twin sons of Elrond, whom had not managed to get rid of the colours in their hair yet. Legolas thought the two pairs were like thunder when they came, and he hoped the storm would pass soon, for Aragorn's household's sake. Not because it wasn't enjoyable to watch!

At the moment, they were in the Halls of Fire, that Aragorn had named the large chamber, probably to remember Imradis and its Halls of Fire. Merry had engaged Pippin in a match of chess, and Frodo and Sam soon decided to join trying to help the two by teaming up. Legolas mostly watched, but now and then gave some advice on moves – two centuries did give him advantage on knowing how one moved an army against the other wisely. His father had taught him much of strategy, though real-life experience was the best lesson. But he rarely led an army; usually he fought as a soldier among them. This game, chess, was a game the hobbits had to learn him first though, but once he understood the general idea and rules, it went on good. The game must be something common among Mankind and halflings, though he wondered how it could have been so that both races knew of it.

Evening had settled over the city of Minas Tirith, and outside the sky was covered in clouds blocking the view of the stars. It had been five days since Gimli had left, and tomorrow the elves from Imradis would leave, including Elladan and Elrohir. Legolas was quite sure that the prank-war they had set up with the hobbits was nowhere over by that time, and any invitation for a later visit from either part would end up in disaster, at least for the hosts. Or the guests. Legolas was not sure on that yet. He only knew they would take any chance they could do play a mischief on the other.

Elladan and Elrohir could do that even if they were to take over the Valley after their father, who was sailing for Valinor with Lady Galadriel, Celeborn and Mithrandir. For some reason, Frodo looked downcast every time it was mentioned of the sailing. Soon Legolas came to realize that Frodo was going to leave, leave for Valinor along with Mithrandir and possibly also with his uncle Bilbo. After all, the Ring had worn badly on him, and he yet had wounds in both body and soul that would not fully heal ... He would leave with the rest of the Ringbearers; Legolas knew which ones there were among elves, as his father was King Thranduil, after all.

"Ha! Check mate!" Merry stood and made a small victory dance on his chair.

"No cheating here, Mister!" Sam cried in dismay. "Horses cannot move that much to the right, can they. Must be something wrong with this. Mister Frodo, aren't you agreeing with me?"

Frodo eyed the pieces on the board. He was sitting by Merry's side, but even then Sam would always ask for his opinion. A grin flashed over his face. "It is indeed check mate." After all, he had been the one to tell Merry to move the horse there.

"Nay, this can't be right!" Pippin protested. "We have to do something about this treachery. Sam, would you help me fetching a bucket for me? ... About right now?"

Merry rolled his eyes dramatically, still standing atop of the chair. "'_Treachery_'?"

Sam slowly stood and backed a little. "No, no, no, there'll be no buckets or water throwing in my presence, thank you! Mister Frodo, what about going outside for a time away from these two? A walk would suit at the moment."

Merry tapped his foot against the chair, crossing his arms. "Hey, it was all fair and square this. We won! That's the point! Pip, why all the big words? And what's with the buckets _all the time __me and __Frodo wins_?!"

Sam's gaze flashed between the two and he muttered, "It's 'Frodo and I', not 'me and Frodo', you know ..." Were they to argue they were to do so properly.

He gave Frodo a pair helpless look; Frodo almost could not contain his laughter. This was the third argument this evening. Always the same. Sometimes, Pippin and Merry were just like old wives.

Pippin grabbed the horse-piece and moved it one step to the left. "See! That's how it should have been. Sam agrees contently, I'm sure. And you know, buckets_ are all_ in handy. It wasn't _all _the time, just that time with the knight and the queen you know. Sam and I, we're fair in play. But you always cheat with this board, Merry."

"Don't call me a cheater! And buckets _are unnecessary _when put against me!" Merry said, looking aghast, weaving with his arms so wildly that Sam thought he was going to fall to indicate his words. "The point is, Pip, that we won. _We_ – me and Frodo. And all fairly as well. Don't say anything else!"

Legolas, who had been laying on the couch staring into the fire up to this moment, enjoying to feel his child play inside of him, and listening to the argument, stood and made his way over to the board to inspect it. Merry moved the horse again, back to its original place before Pippin had touched it.

"Mister Legolas, please tell me nobody cheated and settle these two down for a moment?" Sam asked hopefully. "Or that Mister Pippin and I won for a time?"

Legolas had to hide his chuckle. "Checkmate it is. From what I have noticed this evening, no one of you have been cheating either. Merry and Frodo won fairly."

He could not hide his smile though. Sam looked relieved of the ending the whole argument, while Pippin looked sour and flashed Merry a glare. Frodo started to laugh.

"Yes, I knew it!" Merry restarted his happy victory dance on the chair, ignoring his opponent's angry eyes and the elf's and Frodo's joined laughter. "We did it again, we did it again! The Brandybuck and Baggins takes the lead!"

--


	36. Chapter 36

_**Author's notes:**__ Thank you for waiting so patiently (or not so patiently!) for this chapter. The story is not abandoned! School took up much of my time, it's time for exams quite (too) soon …_

_This chapter is quite long and during the time they are yet in Minas Tirith, it is a two weeks period, if some passages of time are unclear._

_Regarding Middle Earth, I have not any really detailed maps of Tolkien's world, so if there are so geographical errors you notice, please tell me so I can correct it! I don't claim to be any expert on Middle Earth history either, so when it comes to the telling of some Rohan history/culture, all errors are mine. Of what I know, Rohan has a king and then there are Marshals (a military rank); Éomer was the Third Marshal (of the East-Mark) until he was named King of Rohan. I have placed Elfhelm (a Tolkien character) as the new Third Marshal of the Mark (I think it was also this way in the books), and Elfhelm will be guarding in the East and therefore also Aldburg is his center of attention. Elfhelm was Éomer's lieutenant before that. The name 'Aldburg' means 'Old fortress'._

_Lastly, I have not – unfortunately – played chess in years and I used that game mostly because it is more or less international and not too hard to place in a culture like this … Except maybe the hobbits' culture, as they are a peaceful non-warfare folk? I take it Merry and Pippin has learned chess while being in Gondor, then in turn taught their friends this little game._

_Oh, and when there is conversation between Legolas and Lifae, it's often in Sindarin (even if it's not mentioned)._

_(I believe that covered up most of it, right?)_

_Thank you all who read and__** reviewed**__ last chapter! It really cheered me up and thanks to you this chapter got written as well:_

_glostarz__: Hey, thanks! And I'd be very happy and thankful if you wanted to beta last chapter and this one for me? As well as maybe the rest of the story? I know I've said a lot "I plan to do this, and that ..." but I __**do**__ not think this will be so much longer ... After all, Legolas is soon to give birth and all._

_wytman__: Thank you for the review! Gimli is a very fun and interesting character to write, and he is one of my favourites after all. Who can resist that dwarf? Anyway, this chapter will not at least in the beginning contain so much action nor drunk dwarves (haha ^^) I'm afraid. This new evil will be interesting to write ... I don't want to make it too complicated and unreal but a bit afraid that will fail, at least on the complication-part._

_whytman__: I guess it's you again? Well I know I am a bit – okay, _very _– slow at updating but I hope this will satisfy. And about the Beregond/Lifae pairing, I'll take it along the road my readers make way for it. You guys are the ones to decide!_

_Twilight Fan__: Thanks for your review; here is the new update._

_DevilChile__: I'm happy too, about all the reviews! I am also beginning to have my muse returned when I recently finally got the trilogy on DVD and can watch it as much as I want to; is there a smell of a sequel coming up? Do people want this sequel-ed?_

_triolet__: Thank you for your review, and reading all this._

**----**

**Chapter 36 – Road to Edoras**

----

Slowly, the sun trudged up the horizon painting it in a hundred shades of red and yellow. Many parts of the city were yet asleep, but some parts were not. Outside the entrance of the grand citadel, waiting around the small plant of the White Tree, were several dozens of elven horses. Their riders were now clad in white and gray, long golden or night-dark hair covered and pointy ears cloaked.

Lady Galadriel had not yet mounted, like her husband and Lord Elrond. They where saying goodbye. This was the last time, Minas Tirith would be graced by such visitors, so many elves and elven rulers. Elrohir and Elladan stood nearest the entrance, the two-minutes younger one of them shifting from foot to foot. Their horses stood by their sides; like all other horses here without saddle or bridle. They were waiting for the arrival of a certain wood-elf and his guardian.

Dawn had just come. The air was fresh and crisp; it chilled his skin. Legolas arrived, closely followed by Lifae, clad in a thick long tunic given to him by Aragorn, to keep away the morning cold. First he went over to the twins and embraced them.

"Good luck," he murmured. It had been made official that the two would not rule Imradis; Lord Elrond would soon leave to sail, along with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Only, first they had to fetch a certain silver-haired adventuring hobbit in Rivendell. Then, they would await the arrival of Mithrandir, who had promised to by the route crossing Rohan to escort the hobbits back to the Shire. "I hope you do no cause any troubles without your elders' presence ..." Was it possible these two could maintain the peaceful harem their father had settled? Would Rivendell ever be the same again? Legolas doubted it.

Elladan smirked. "Now come on, we're not _that bad,_ are we!"

"Indeed, he's clearly over reacting, or, over- sometimes under-rating us, depending how you look on it," his brother agreed. "What should be said: you take care. We know you and Estel are prone to trouble all the lot of it. You really needs to settle down with Éomer and take care of the child of yours instead. Remember, there are no more orcs to hunt down now."

"Hm, almost a pity that – not more hunting, running in the woods, and making fun of the lack of skills that Est-" Elladan was cut off but Legolas' sad laughter; the wood-elf playfully slapped his arm.

"You two are elflings, not lords, and that is my final words," Legolas said. "And I swear, a hundred eons could pass, and you still would be the horrendous elflings you are today."

Elrohir looked a bit bewildered. "Should we fear?"

Again, Legolas laughter rang out. "You, fear? Nay not _you _two, of course. The inhabitants of Imradis will flee under your terrible rule!"

The prince pulled them into a last embrace. Neither brother could stop themselves from gently pressing a hand to the elf's swollen stomach, and being answered by a small kick. "Send word when the baby has come," one of them said. "We'll come and visit as soon as we can."

"Oh, and I'd love to have the child named after me!" his brother proclaimed. "Take care of the little one. I'm sure Éomer will be stocked taking care of_ you_."

Still smiling slightly, Legolas left the two brothers to let them take care of their father, while he said his farewells to the lord and lady of Lothlórien. He knew he never see the Golden Woods in its former splendor ever again; the single time he had, it had been winter. Never would he see them in spring, and it saddened him a little. The elves and their kingdoms were fading away ...

He had expected the Lady to speak more than farewells to him, to maybe say a word of his child or what path he had chosen to travel. But she offered no more words, nor did her husband; for a moment Legolas remembered her words he had been given through Mithrandir in Fangorn forest so long ago:

_Tu__rn to land once more and thou  
will remember thy Anor._

What had she meant? He had given his heart to Éomer, tied himself to Rohan – resisted the Sea and turned to land ... Still, it was a mystery how the Sun could change, or make him remember. He had never had a Sun; it was not within his grasp.

Lastly, he turned to Lord Elrond, to say goodbye. He was surprised to see Glorfindel by his side; and the golden haired warrior looked calm except for in his eyes. There was a burning glow, and Legolas realized he must have awakened Glorfindel's anger anew when betrothing himself with Éomer. He bowed lightly to the Lord, who answered the gesture, as did the other elves around him – the only one who did not was Glorfindel. The elf did not murmured a farewell either. Legolas felt guilty, after all, he was the one who angered the elf so much.

"Farewell, Prince of the Greenwood."

A solemn silence settled over the company as the elves, one by one, mounted and started descending down the stairs to the lower levels. Soon, the large plateau was emptied except for the golden elven prince and his guard, lingering by the entrance to the Hall. They stood there, watching in silence, until they could spot a trail of riders beyond the city gates, crossing the plains, and beyond of sight. Legolas sighed a little, shivering, nimbly rubbing his arms to get rid of the cold.

_'So my people goes hence,'_ he thought, a bittersweet feeling on his tongue, '_and I am not with them ...'_

_--_

When not being with the hobbits playing chess, where sometimes Aragorn would join had he the time, or spending time with Lifae in the gardens, Legolas was with Éomer. By now, the whole city seemed to know of their engagement; not only their own friends but also persons they had never heard of would come and congratulate them. Sometimes they would talk of their different pasts or the future, at other times they enjoyed the silence together mixing it with soft kisses, simply enjoying each other's presence. Once Legolas had been with his lover and also Aragorn on a meeting concerning Rohan and its trades with Gondor, but the elf had between some discussion found it mostly boring and tiring, and decided he could never grow partially interested in politics.

One week passed by quickly. Many among the Fellowship and their friends had started to pack for the journey to Edoras; besides from the halflings and Mithrandir, also Aragorn and Arwen were set upon accompanying them. While Legolas, and the hobbits did not own too very much here in Minas Tirith, Arwen and Aragorn had a full wardrobe to choose from. Legolas knew that once his father found out he would not be too pleased; after all, Thranduil wanted him to stay at one place until after the child's birth.

But both of them knew that keeping the Prince at one place at a length of time was nearly impossible. To have been all these months in Minas Tirith, tied down, was frustrating to Legolas. It felt good to soon be on the road again and know he would have the chance to bicker with Gimli in a very near future.

Legolas had sent a message to the lord of Ithilien, Faramir, to ask him to come for Minas Tirith for just a short visit, a few days. It was since the request made by Gimli; one that Legolas gladly would hold to promise. Faramir would come in a day, he had heard. Surely the lord, and Steward, must wonder why he was being called. Legolas still was not entirely sure how to and what to say when showing Faramir the memorial statue Gimli had made of his brother. Was anything at all needed to be said?

--

Early at morning, Legolas had been with Lifae at the training fields. His guardian and long-time friend declared he needed to refresh his skills. It had been many weeks since he had had a chance to battle or shoot with his bow, after all. The warrior within Legolas wished to grip the handle of a sword or go fetch his own bow, when he watched Lifae target practice. Every arrow hit the mark, or almost every arrow, when Legolas startled him by calling out his name; the arrow slipped from the string and embedded itself inches from the center of the target. Lifae's sensed had been on high alert and thought something was amiss. But when he spun around on his heels he only found Legolas snickering at him.

"Prince Legolas! Behave!" he accused. "What do you think would have happened if that was an enemy and not a frozen target?"

"Ah ... It would have been a great misfortune, indeed." Legolas could not stop laughing.

Lifae's older eyes were dangerously sharp, though they glinted in a humorous way giving away his amusement. "Those who play with fire ..."

"I apologize!" Legolas exclaimed. "I do! I swear!"

Lifae just sighed and shook his head. The young prince still did not stop laughing, almost collapsing on the grass; better just ignore him for a moment and finish the practice. The last arrow flew from the string and hit the mark precisely. Legolas finally got over his laughing attack and clapped his hands. "You are growing better, Lifae."

Even though younger, the prince was more used to the bow and had perfected the usage of the weapon. But Lifae was better at handling a sword – he had won almost every single sword fight they had ever had – and Legolas always had admired the older elf's skills.

Lifae went to retrieve the arrow. Still sitting on the grass, with his legs folded, Legolas let his gaze sweep over the training fields. They were almost empty, except for a sparring pair in the corner, and a few people under the shadow of tall hovering buildings coming to catch a glimpse of the two elves. Since the elves of both Mirkwood, Imradis and Lothlórien had left, seeing an elf had once again become a rarity. After all, among the thousands that lived here in Minas Tirith, permanently or not, only two guest inhabitants were elves.

The sun hung lazily on the sky partly hidden by clouds, but Legolas felt peculiarly warm. "Let us go inside, beneath some shadows," he suggested once Lifae came back to him with a now full quiver. "It is too hot out here."

"Come then, princeling," Lifae said and helped him to stand.

Side by side they made their way inside, under the archway leading to the plaza and through the maze of buildings and corridors that made the citadel of Minas Tirith. Legolas did not know the way everywhere around the guest rooms yet, and there where many ways to choose from.

Someone had opened all the windows along the outer corridor. Light streamed into the empty halls, and the elves' forms cast shadows against the white stone. They decided to go visit the hobbits if they were here around. Their steps took them towards the hobbit's chambers; from the open doorway they heard a cry of dismay.

"That's cheating! Again!"

"Dear Pip, haven't you learned yet, Brandybucks and Baggins leads forever?" came the silky voice of another hobbit.

Legolas knocked lightly on the door frame, to announce his and Lifae's presence. Frodo greeted them gladly looking up from a book he was reading, though Merry and Pippin sat sunken over the chess board glaring at each other the best they could. Sam was not present. "Hello young hobbits," Legolas said. "Where is Sam?" he wondered.

Frodo nodded towards the window. "He said he would go down to the gardens," he explained. "Yesterday he met one of the gardeners ... I assume they are about to exchange some knowledge and Hobbiton jokes, if the gardener has the time."

Legolas nodded in understanding, smiling slightly; he had know that Samwise was a gardener, but the thought had slipped away until Frodo mentioned it. The halfling must miss gardening as well as the Shire, of course. _'Maybe, one day, I can take him to Mirkwood and show him some of the wonders there',_ he thought, sending a small thought to his own garden inside the palace walls that often had brought him comfort.

He cast a glance at the two hobbits by the board. The items placed on it were in disorder; some lay on the floor as well. Pippin was wildly waving with a piece in his hand, doing large gestures. "How can you always win like that?" he demanded. "Merry, you must have a cheat or something! Stop cheating!"

"I'm a respectable Brandybuck and Brandybucks don't ever cheat!" Merry announced. "Okay, let's play again. This time maybe you have luck," he said, wanting to end this argument and still keeping his victory. "Just because I've won almost every time 'til now doesn't meant you won't win, right? Come on, Pip. Just one more time." Was it that bad? Since when had it had been that bad? It was a fair battle!

"Fine," Pippin said, putting down the piece while looking a bit sour. "Still Brandybucks won't live up to the Took-image."

"Took-image?" Merry spluttered. "What's wrong with Brandybucks? Pippin, you're my best friend, like for the last years you know, never _once_ have you let me down nor me you, Pip, but now you come and … and … and you say that-that I, we, Brandybucks are-"

Frodo rolled his eyes at the two, who started to pick up the shattered pieces from the floor, and laughed. When taking seat next to him, Legolas beckoned Lifae to come inside and not just stand silent like a mouse in the doorway. Hesitantly, Lifae did as bid, and stood next to the Prince's seat. By his usual nature, he would not sit and join conversation, putting down his guard. No, of course not. It did not matter the war was over, the enemy gone; he could not relax yet._ 'Ai, Lifae', _Legolas thought_. 'It'd be blunt to say you need a rest.'_ Though he did not say it out loud.

Sam came to join them after some time, and his eyes were full of excitement as he recited everything about the gardens in the palace of Minas Tirith to the two elves, and then spoke of the Shire or more exactly Hobbiton, and its wonders, the flowers, gardening at Bag End, and the Part Tree. For the first time in his life, Lifae spoke with a hobbit as he was pulled into conversation as well (by much urging and question from Legolas). Frodo, to their and Merry and Pippin's great delight, retold the story of Bible's great feast to celebrate his 111th birthday.

Legolas had heard it before but he did not bother. It was an interesting story and he still wondered how come Hobbits gave presents to others at their own birthday parties. Often it was the other way around; as a child he had received a gift or two once a year, the older he grew. Of course birthdays are not a thing that elves priority or celebrate. Once over five hundred it begins to be a bit hard to hold the count.

For Lifae this story was entirely new and very interesting. He knew nothing at all of the hobbits or their culture, nor had he thought that such a small creature could grow so old (by mortal reckoning).

"Half the Shire was invited," Frodo said.

"More like two thirds," Merry argued.

"Anyway," Pippin told them, "most of them probably entered the party, then sneaked out and entered again. You know, two handshakes and two small gifts instead of one? Oh and Gandalf's fireworks were amazing, especially when Merry and I to–"

Abruptly he was stopped when Merry threw a warning glare along with a piece from the chess board at him, the latter aimed at his stomach. Merry cleared his throat. Sam and Frodo knew the story of the stealing of a rather big firework lit under a tent, but Merry who had with Pippin lit said firework was very intend on keeping that part of the story a secret. "Ah, yes, me and Pippin _told _him, Gandalf that is, to use this large piece that took form of a … a dragon once in the air …"

"You stole it!" Sam accused them, totally breaking Merry plans. "'scuse me Mr Brandybuck, but you and Pippin did steal it, and put it on fire under a tent. It flew in the air and frightened half of the Shire, believing it was a real dragon, before it exploded into this spectacular show of light and colours ..."

"No we didn't!" Merry argued.

"But then why saw I Gandalf take you by the ear and make you do the dishes?" Sam asked, sending a glance at Frodo for confirmation. "Mr. Frodo, you did see them too right? All sooty, and hair spiking to all directions."

Merry grumbled something under his breath. Pippin had at first been rather proud to have been able to (well, almost able to) sneak behind Gandalf's back and steal a firework without getting caught. The fact that Sam told the whole story, about being caught as well, made him a bit sour like his cousin.

"Well have you ever tried to steal from a wizard?" Pippin said in a slightly challenging tone. "I swear, he's got eyes on the back of his head. How did he know it was us?!"

Frodo laughed; it was hard to explain for the elves but Merry and Pippin had always been the worst mischief makers in Hobbiton, maybe even the Shire, putting their nose in were they shouldn't as well. How could Gandalf _not _had found out it was them?

"Ah well, we're breaking off the point," Merry said. "The point is Bilbo and he would start this grand speech …"

"Under the Party Tree," Sam remembered. "It was full of light like twinkling stars over his head. Gathered on the grass were a lot of them; Bagginses, Boffins, Bolgers, Hornblowers …"

"…Tooks and Brandybucks," Merry filled in.

"And then he told us something I didn't quite understand," Pippin said, trying to search his memory for those puzzling words. "Something that went like: 'I don't know half of you, or the other half as well as I'd like …'. Frodo, you've got good memory right?"

Frodo was silent for a moment. "I'm afraid I cannot remember." He was a bit somber all of sudden; he missed his Uncle Bilbo, the tales of adventure and the poems and songs he'd always sing.

"Pity that," Pippin said. "It sounded really riddle-elf-like, like the elves from Rivendell always spoke to me while we were there." Then, catching what he had said, he glanced at the two present elves with a slight blush. Luckily Legolas chuckled softly, and his companion smiled silently. Legolas recalled the first time he had met Aragorn, while the man yet was young; and Estel as he then was called had complained how the other Men he had meet spoke so strangely straightforward compared to the people of Rivendell; his brothers, his father, his friends. The hobbits probably felt the other way around …

Sam and Frodo, with fill-ins from Merry and Pippin, told them of the speech, the sudden disappearance and endless speculations among the hobbits. Many thought that Gandalf, who was and is a mysterious characters in Shire, had something to do with it. Had he cast a spell at the distance, moved Bilbo to another place, maybe made him invincible or maybe even turned him into a toad, so small he could not be spotted?

In between guesses, and later the giving of gifts at Bag End to the guests, the tale ended abruptly when there was a knock at the door, and a servant stepped inside a bit warily, uncertain when among hobbits and elves. The servant asked Legolas to follow to the Hall, telling them that a certain guest had arrived. As he went with Lifae in tow, Merry called after them: "Don't be too long!"

In a corner of the Great Hall, Faramir was waiting. He had come alone, not even with a guard, and was eating and drinking just as the elves arrived. At seeing them, Faramir put down his cup and stood, giving a small bow to the Prince of Mirkwood and his companion whom he was not so sure who he was. Faramir had only seen this other elf following the prince like a shadow, but never spoken to him.

"You asked me to come, Prince Legolas?" he asked.

"Please, just call me by name, Lord Faramir," Legolas said.

Faramir smiled. "Of course, and if you please then I go by only name," he said.

Legolas nodded understanding, a tugging at the corners of his lips. He gently asked Lifae to leave them for a moment, which Lifae was not so pleased for, but he gave in and went back to the hobbits. Again Legolas turned to the guest and together they crossed the Hall and the elf led Faramir to one of the statues. Faramir had not noticed it earlier. It had not been there before, either, and stood now on the marble floor covered by a white sheet, hidden from the outer world.

"My friends Gimli and King Aragorn gave me a small request," Legolas explained, "to show you this." His smile had turned into a serious expression. He did not know how Faramir would react at this. Gently he tugged at the sheet and pulled it down to reveal the statue. The statue of Boromir which Gimli had shown in days ago.

Faramir went almost speechless. His relationship with his brother had been a loving one, even lately a bit rocky and unsteady as their father slowly went into madness, blinded by greed for power to look justly upon his sons. But Faramir loved his brother and Boromir had always loved his, not matter what their father had thought. He did not know what to say. The statue made of white stone was a perfect copy, catching his brother's very spirit – alive, full of energy, the lust of a warrior. A horn hung by his stone belt.

"Thank you," he murmured, touching the stone with his fingers. It was cold beneath his hand.

"Thank not me, but the son of Glóin, who made this masterpiece," the elf by his side said, softly. He felt he needed to say something, of Boromir's courage or life even if he had barely known him. "Your brother was a mighty warrior … and a good man." _'He died a honourable death', _Legolas thought_. 'In the end his lust for the Ring was overcome, he regretted it and protected the hobbits with his life.' _Though he did no say that, for he did not wish to upset Faramir by speaking of his brother's death, nor was it good to be reminded of the Ring.

This man had lost his brother. He, Legolas, had too lost one. An older brother. Though when it had happened it had been so young … much younger than this man was now. He understood Faramir's pain even though it was different from his own. His own had been the pain of a child not understanding the concept of death back then, while Faramir was a warrior and he did understand what it meant with another man's death. Legolas had a sudden desire to lay a hand on the man's shoulder to comfort him and let him know that he was not the only one that had experienced losses, but refrained when he lifted his hand. He lowered it again. The elf's eyes were soft as he regarded the man. Faramir stood a long time in front of the statue, staring at it, the face of his brother like it was a real man's. Then he pulled away his gaze.

"Bring fourth my thanks, please, to the dwarf Gimli," he said, voice a bit hoarse. Was he holding back tears? Was he holding back memories? Good or bad memories? "I am very grateful …"

"I shall," Legolas said, a soft sad smile on his lips. "Do you wish to be alone?" he asked a while later. "I can see no one shall disturb you, if …" He let the words fade, for the man understood. Faramir nodded slightly.

"I never thought, I would come to Minas Tirith for …"

He took a deep breath. He was at loss for words. For this? His brother was lost … dead, gone; it was a hard fact to accept once it sunk in, now when the stress of the War was mostly over.

Long moments passed between them with silence. Legolas regarded him with some grief, but no pity; Faramir would not like pity, like he was sure no man would have. There was nothing to be pitied for, a loss like this.

"He was very dear to me," the man said at last. Then he stood silent, saying no more.

Slowly Legolas drew back to join the hobbits and Lifae again, bowing his head, leaving the man alone. He would send someone to look for the man later, had he not joined dinner today along with Aragorn, he decided. The man should not be alone in grief over his brother too long; the memories must have come back fully now, just when they had started to fade. Legolas understood what he felt, and he knew how hard sometimes such pain could be to break. No, he should not be alone …

When Legolas came back, the two youngest of the hobbits had managed to challenge Lifae in a game of chess. Though he was amused, Legolas only managed a small sad smile. Frodo and Sam excused themselves leaving for different directions, and Merry and Pippin were too busy to ask who 'the guest' had been or why this person was here in Minas Tirith, seeing Legolas. Legolas decided he would explain to Lifae later at evening. Lifae would surely ask …

The game between hobbits and elf ended with victory for the latter. Pippin dramatically glared at Merry. "For once I team up with the winner, you lose! How could you manage to lose against him and not me earlier?!"

Merry shrugged innocently. "Well don't look at me! What should I've done?"

"Helped me win?"

"Pip, you're thinking entirely the wrong way about this …"

"Me? Why? We had this amazing opportunity utterly wasted! Next time I'll team up with the elves instead …"

"But Pippin, think about it, he's an elf and probably is some kind of mind-reader to know our next move, so -"

The two fell again into a serious heated discussion. Standing next to the winning elf, who wore a smile of triumph on his lips, Legolas took a look at the board. Most black pieces were gone, though its King yet stood. The white King lay knocked down in front of a horse and its rider, as if indicating its hopeless position of check mate.

"I never knew you were much for playing games," Legolas said with a raised eyebrow, falling into Sindarin.

"I am not, my prince," Lifae answered using the same tongue. "I am learning. It is a very interesting game."

"I wonder," Legolas said, "how hobbits came to know such a game when they before did not know the meaning of war … I mean, chess is based on war."

Lifae could not find an answer to that. Legolas decided he would ask the hobbits themselves someday.

"Why did you seek solitude with the lord of Ithilien?" Lifae asked.

Legolas' soft smile faded. "Gimli had made a memorial statue in the Great Hall of Faramir's brother, Boromir, who passed away on the Quest. Aragorn and Gimli asked me to show it for Faramir with some fitting words. I thought it best for him to not be spied upon by elven eyes while in grief …"

"Ah." Lifae nodded a bit absently. The elves fell silent, but a feet away, the two hobbits were still arguing on how to beat an elf in chess.

--

**

The darkness around him suffocated him. A moist, warm shell surrounding him, squeezing at his lungs; he could not breathe – he could not breathe!

He was being pulled down, held, trapped; something cold pressed against the base of his neck. It was a shock, like someone had lain him in a bath of ice, tying him down – he could not move, breathe, freedom, breaths, he could not see anything and felt lost and cold and blind - could not …!

'_Let me go! Let me go!'_

This time no dwarf was there to pull him away, like so far away, Helm's Deep … No man or elf or hobbit either. There was no one to pull him away from this prison, release him …

'_Let go!'_

It felt as a gaze pierced him and he could not move away.

_**_

Legolas awoke sweating, gasping for air, pale hands gripping the sheets like a lifeline. First he was confused, could not recall where he was, surrounded by white walls and a soft bed. It took a few moments for him to regain his breath and cramping muscles relaxed, sweaty fists slowly letting go of the fabric. It had been so many weeks since he last had dreamt thus, it came as a shock.

Slowly, he untangled himself from the sheets. Slowly, his heartbeat grew regular again. Unlike earlier dreams, this time he had been blind, seen nothing but darkness – and it terrified him. What did it mean? Was this going to happen – what was going to happen? To whom?

He could not go back to sleep, not now. He felt dizzy and sick and … suffocated. Standing he made his way across the room, opening the window. The window creaked on its joins. The crack of the moon visible on the sky let down a pale glow on the White City, and he was able to make out the silhouettes of buildings, towers, the wall far down below; it all appeared to glow, the white stone. The rest was laying in darkness.

Outside, the air was fresh and cool, dripping onto his skin, and he shivered at the touch. The fact that autumn soon – soon for an elf, that was - would come, with warm colours yet colder nights, warmed his mind some, though. He had always loved autumn, the wind playing among the trees in Mirkwood; he remembered how fascinated with all those colours he was as a child, gold, orange and brown, sometimes even finding leaves coloured red on the mossy ground. His father was always unpleased when he ran away under the half-naked branches to search for these golden, red leafs, but Thranduil could not stay angry for too long when his elfling came running back, leafs lying tenderly in his arms, his grasp around them so careful that he lost most of them to the wind as he hurried down the path.

But that was such a long time ago … The memory was something vague; he could not remember what his father had said, or how long time had passed, nor could he tell if it had been a cool morning at the edge of winter, or had it been the middle of day. What he did recall clearly was the colours, the fading green, how the wind stirred the leafs and tickled his face, the wonderful scents he bathed in at a sharp intake of breath.

It was yet month left for autumn. But of course that is a quite short time for an elf.

For long moments he stood by the window, leaning out slightly to the wind. It was so silent here. The city's light had gone out except for a handful of watchtowers filled with soft yellow and white, sipping through the windows. The guards were always alert here. Legolas breathed deeply. There was no smell of autumn, of crushed leafs in gold and brown. That was why he did not enjoy being here, in a city of stone. Like Mirkwood, Rohan had this vast wild freedom around it – only it was lacking trees. Mayhap he could write to his father, to come visit sometime once Éomer and he had settled there, asking to bring a handful of leafs and a few seeds of the trees of his homeland. He was sure no one would mind if he managed to have some trees growing outside the gates of Edoras …

With a start he was pulled from his daydreams. He had not understood the reality it what he had been thinking or what was going to happen. He was going to live in Rohan, in Edoras. He knew barely nothing of that land, its people, or culture. He only knew Éomer and had only once spoken to his sister Éowyn. _'But maybe, Rohan and Mirkwood are alike, in a way,_' he thought. The Rohirrim were farmers, and warriors. The wood-elves cared most of all of nature, ready to defend it and the ones they loved with weapons in hand. Those expended large plains, the grass golden at winter and emerald green at spring – he would like that.

'_And my child would like that, as well.'_

The freedom. He lingered a hand on his swollen stomach. The babe beneath his hand was asleep.

Fangorn was nearby, within Rohan's boarders, and Legolas remembered both Gimli's promise to visit the forest with him, as well he recalled the Ent Fangorn's words that they were welcome. Oh, he almost pitied Gimli! How could one deny the beauty of a forest? Nay, he would never truly understand that dwarf. But maybe some he would understand, eventually, as he was going to visit the Glittering Caves with Gimli as guide and companion. The dwarves that had settled there would probably not be pleased about having an elf there! An elf of all creatures!

Legolas drew away from the window, his mind much clearer now. He let the window be opened, though, in a tiny crack to let in new fresh air. He was tired still; hopefully he would manage to sleep peacefully now. He needed energy for tomorrow; they – he, Éomer, Aragorn and his wife, the hobbits and Gandalf – were going to leave for Edoras during the day. Tomorrow. Just by tomorrow, he would be making his way to a place he there forth would call his home. The thought make him excited and nervous, and he could not wait to be going, away from this stony city. Sliding under the sheets, he let himself fall into slumber, dreaming of a vast landscape with green hills and on top of one, a city with golden roofs.

--

The next day when they left, the sky was gray. They had thought about waiting, maybe a day or even weeks, after the birth of Legolas' child, but Legolas and the hobbits were eager to be on their way. It did not look like raining, the clouds were not so dark or heavy, and hopefully it would not rain only lightly or if they were fast enough they could reach Rohan's boarders before it.

Legolas was as impatient as Arod was. The white steed moved restlessly around, which made a few men glance at him uncertainly since the horse was unbound and wore no saddle, not even bridle. They rather not have a nervous horse on the run within the city. But Arod stood by his master's side, impatient, but waiting. He nuzzled the elf's shoulder and gazed at him with wide eyes.

With a smile on his lips Legolas stroke his head, running a hand through his mane. "Calm, my friend," he murmured in Sindarin. "We will leave soon, soon. There, do not waste your energy yet. Soon you will be able to gallop across the wide plains …"

Across the yard Aragorn was speaking with Faramir, who during their journey would have the rule over Gondor and Minas Tirith in particular. Aragorn trusted the man so needed not worry, too much at least. The hobbits were about to mount their ponies, Sam helping Frodo to tie a pack to Frodo's pony's back.

"Are you ready to leave?" Lifae asked his prince, coming to his side. The elf had a hand on his own chestnut horse's back. The mare was not as young as Arod, not as fierce, and much calmer. When Lifae's hand slipped off her back she did not move, patiently waiting. She had spent days within a stable and eager to leave, but ready to wait until Lifae sat safe on her back.

"Yes, I am, very much so," Legolas said. "I cannot see what is taking all this time …And where is Éomer? I cannot see him, I have not seen him today …"

"I believe he went to make sure everything was ready for the escort of his uncle's body, Théoden's," Lifae answered.

Moving a body across a land was heavy and hard even with horses and wagons. Months ago, recently after his death, Théoden's body had been embalmed by Gondorian physicians, so that it would be preserved and be left undamaged during the journey. That was the one thing that bothered Legolas on this travel. To have a dead body with them was not a very comfortable note and it left him a bit uneasy. Who would not be? It was a constant remember of death, like an annoying thought at the back of your head that you cannot push away, an itch you cannot quite reach to scratch. Legolas shifted from foot to foot.

At last Éomer appeared, leading a horse by the reins. Behind him followed several guards or soldiers with as many horses with them, and at last a wagon with what Legolas guessed contained Théoden. Finally they were going to leave. The elf had had quite enough of the stone city now, he longed for open plains and forest and to sleep beneath open skies or a ceiling of wood, not stone. Lifae helped the prince to mount Arod before climbing onto his mare's back.

Éomer, mounting his own steed, rode up beside Legolas. "Will you ride beside me?" he asked. He wished the elf would ride with him, sharing a horse, but was not so sure how Legolas would react if he asked it now.

"Of course, love," Legolas smiled.

By the stairs, Faramir clasped Aragorn's arms. "Return soon, my King," he said. "And good luck on your journey. You have my word that Minas Tirith is in safe hands." Then Aragorn and Arwen were the last of the company to mount as they started riding down the city, through one gate and then another, one level by the other of the seven, before they reached the last large gate and was out on the road. People watched them with curiousity and cheered at their King and his Queen were they went, wishing them good luck and calling after them to be back. It was, after all, a bit downcasting for the people that their newly-coronated King was leaving for another land so early in his rule. The people held no grudge against Faramir but yet, a Steward did not soothe the people the same way the King did, especially a son of Denethor.

Within half two hours they had passed through Osiligath and over the river, riding north-west. Legolas felt a small drop of rain hit his cheek_. _Hopefully they would reach new shelter before worse weather broke out.

The rain broke out half an hour later, a light cold rain sticking to their skin. Legolas pulled out his Lothlórien cloak from his pack and pulled it around himself, rising his hood. 'So much for no rain,' he thought. There was a small Gondorian village a four hours' ride away but after that there were not much civilization along the road they were traveling, until they reached Rohan's boarders.

Despite to the rain they ride was not quiet. It was merry and the hobbits could not stop speaking, it seemed; nothing appeared to dampen their spirits now when they were on their way home. Pippin wore his small armour marking him as a guard of the citadel of Gondor under his elven cloak, and Merry wore clothing making him look like a Rohirrim rider in miniature. They both said it was their duty to show their status, though Legolas suspected it was to risen their fellows' interested once in the Shire, and to have more people around them while telling tales of their adventure.

Legolas spoke with Éomer but then the man's voice quieted down for long moments, without explaining why. He had a distant look in his eyes. Legolas did not attempt to strike up conversation with anyone else. He and Éomer rode close enough for him to reach out and gently squeeze his hand. Something bothered or worried the man, Legolas saw that, but what or why he did not know. Later, in that village, he would ask him and talk with him. Was something wrong? Was he thinking of his homeland? He must miss it, that was sure. Or it was his sister yet left in Ithilien that he was worried for. Yes, Legolas would let him talk in the village and try to soothe him.

The road grew smaller the further away they came from Osiligath, at some places not more than a path across the plains and few trees they then and now passed. Legolas glanced back over the company, briefly meeting Aragorn's gaze; and he saw that the man wanted to, for a moment, leave the group and just feel the wind and roam like a ranger in these lands. But then he could not do that, he was a King after all, and had to keep some dignity, not run on and off the hills or under the shadows of the trees.

"Is it far? To Rohan I mean," Pippin asked Gandalf, who rode behind the hobbits on Shadowfaxe using neither saddle nor reins.

"Far enough," Gandalf responded. "A few days ride, a few more on foot. Just across these hills there is a forest to cross before we once again reach the grassy plains of Rohan, which now in summer must be emerald green."

"A forest? Gandalf, the same forest we crossed on Shadowfaxe to reach Minas Tirith?" Pippin wondered, remembering the fast ride across the lands he had shared with Gandalf, months and moths ago, after looking into that black Stone, the Palantír.

"Aye, that is the one, lad. Firien."

Merry decided it was time for him to plunge into conversation. "Pippin, you haven't told me a thing about that yet! The ride for Gondor. How was it, Pip, did you waste all the leafs I gave you?"

"It was fast and cold, if you need to know. It was more interesting being in Minas Tirith rather on the way to it. And no, I didn't waste it all! Then I mean. Afterwards I did, celebrating Sam and Frodo …"

Merry sighed. "You smoke too much, Pip."

"What! What about you then?"

Another discussion broke out, causing the others to laugh.

The four hours seemed shorter when Legolas spotted the village where they were heading in the distance. A small spot, a rather large group of buildings with no walls surrounding it. It was midday now, and several tails of smoke rose from afar into the sky. Legolas announced to the group that they were near now. The hobbits looked relieved. "Oh thank god, I'm hungry," Merry said.

"Not the only one," Pippin agreed. Then he gave a small worried glance at the men around him, lastly at Gandalf. "There will be food right?"

--

The villagers had had word of their journey and greeted them warmly, serving a rather large but simple lunch for the royalty and their friends, though the soldiers riding some way behind them would have to pay a few coins for food. The hobbits were utterly delighted and ate more than a full grown man could have managed. Legolas was not sure if the villagers were so happy about that.

He was not so hungry and did not know if he could hold food down so easily if he rode afterwards, so he ate just a bowl of soup, despite the hobbits' protests. They tried to feed him with everything, saying the baby needed it very desperately with his eating habits, and in the end managed to have him eating a piece of bread with cheese along with the soup. During the lunch, which was set in the village's a small in that was the village's largest building, Éomer was by his side. Finally the man had regained his tongue and happily talked again. It soothed Legolas some, and he hoped Éomer's lighter mood would last. After two hours of eating and a little rest, they would be on their way again. They wished to reach Rohan as fast as possible.

The lunch passed by, and while the hobbits and Gandalf sat in a corner to smoke – something that peaked the villagers' interest, Legolas was about to take a small walk around the village, but was stopped by Éomer and Lifae who said it was unwise and he should take a nap instead. Legolas didn't pout, but once he was alone with Lifae, he was close to. What was wrong with a little look at the village? The people here would do no harm! He could look after himself. Just a short walk. Stretch his legs.

He stretched out on the bed in the room he had been given over the few hours and tried to rest. Slowly he let his mind slip into sleep. Smiling at the prince, Lifae silently laid out a chess board on the table across the room and set the pieces.

--

They were traveling at a fairly unhurried pace now and had been on this trek for two days now. They were in no hurry; a messenger had been sent already to Edoras, to tell that the surviving Rohirric warriors that had not already come home, and the King, were on their way. The people of Rohan expected to see them within a week or a week and a half, if they needed so much time, and they had provisions for almost that double time, so they needed not worry. The hobbits were especially glad. They rode on ponies which could not hold onto the horse's speed for too long, and there would be a lot more time than the last journey to stop and – yes, eat. Also, they were near a forest that looked small and young, not too bad – there could be mushrooms around!

Legolas did not say it out loud, but he was glad too for the gentle speed of their travel. It was tiresome to ride and put a strain on his body and his senses. During the last few days, the others seemed more protective, closer, being around him for no reason. Now during the ride they refused to let him ride in the back of the group. It took some time to realize why they were acting thus. The thought he was going to fall in labour any moment now! He almost shook his head and laughed at them, for they were acting quite silly. Or he thought so, at least, in the beginning, though he grew unsure then. He was a bit afraid for the birth – but he did not say it out loud. Elves carry children for a full twelve months – he was quite sure that he would give birth the same day, or a day before or after, that his child was begetted. It was yet three weeks until then! What was there to worry about? Once the baby came, they would be safe and settled within the wooden walls of Edoras …

'_Now you are letting your mind wander a bit too far,'_ Legolas told himself. To distract himself he let his gaze travel over the company, and he caught their conversation with half an ear; the hobbit were discussing the next luncheon and talked longingly of the Shire and the beer from the Green Dragon. Arwen rode by Aragorn's side, and then and now either one would reach out and touch the other's arm or shoulder, eyes meeting in that youthful way which they always had since their wedding. Legolas had a feeling Arwen was hiding something … Gandalf was merely riding with twinkling eyes by their side, not saying a word but offering a small wink in his way. Legolas smiled broadly. He was riding side by side of Éomer, who was their guide on this journey, even though Aragorn perhaps knew these roads even better than him – one was not a Ranger for nothing. Furthest back rode their guards, and the soldiers from Rohan longing to go home. But something was amiss, though; Lifae looked distant, his shoulders tensed beneath his tunic, where he was riding before the prince.

"What is it, Lifae? You seem so tense," Legolas wondered, bringing up Arod to ride beside his guard's steed.

The elf glanced at him, then at their surroundings. They had passed the boarders of south-east Anórien this morning and all since, Lifae had had a subconscious feeling that something was not right. He was not sure ... not what it was, nor if he was right either. He could just be imagining things, still tense and on his guard since the war. And yet ...

"I am not sure, my prince," Lifae admitted. He did not want to disturb the travellers' peace or fret anyone, but it was better to know about dangers at beforehand rather than afterwards. "It is just a feeling I have ... like eyes upon us. Maybe it is nothing but my nerves."

A small frown passed over Legolas' face. "Maybe ..."

"I will be on my guard, prince. Just in case," Lifae said after a moment, dipping his head a little. He strained his hearing to detect anything unusual, but there was no sound but from soft voices, hoof beats, the gentle breeze licking the grass_. 'It was nothing.'_

Legolas nodded at Lifae's concern, understanding. "I trust you in that, my friend," he said. He turned his attention from his guard to the surroundings.

Anórien was beautiful. Trees and grass were coloured green, wild flowers graced the side of the road, and they soon could hear the sounds of water from small streams that were linked to the Great River. They were riding upon the Great West Road, the old road that now after the war was cleared and more frequently used. Lifae had never been here before, but had studied some maps within Thranduil's castle, and was quite sure that they were to pass through a small forest, Firien, using this way. Legolas would be overjoyed to be under the shadows of trees again.

They had been riding for four hours now, since their last stop. Their company was not so large, though large compared to the lone or paired travellers they could meet on the road. Aragorn and Arwen were surrounded by some four Men from Gondor to guard them, then there was Éomer with as many Rohirric men that had stayed all time in Minas Tirith with him. The four guards were Théoden's cortège more than Éomer's, having responsibility of the dead king's body. The halflings and Gandalf rode in the end of the trail, the youngest never able to just be silent and admire the nature around them. A little further back, Pippin was talking to Merry about food. Legolas grinned. The halflings would quite often pause and ask for some rest and something to eat.

Half an hour later was such a moment, when Merry finally voiced something near a complaint, with the argument "heroes needs rest and nourishments too!".

Legolas was actually quite relieved when he finally could slid off Arod's back. His shoulders and back hurt, muscles strained by riding along with the extra burden the child put on him. Eru, he had not been riding for such a long time until now, so for his body it was quite a shock.

Men and hobbits started to set up a small camp by the side of the road, tying their horses to trees or poles in the ground so they could also rest and eat of the grass without running away. But Legolas murmuring Arod's ear, letting him to go freely. The steed would come once Legolas called for him, he knew that. Lifae did the same with his elven horse, a fine gray mare that Lifae had had in his care since she was a small foal.

For a moment, Lifae stood with his back to the others staring out at the road before them, disappearing into the high grass, then turned his head and took a look at the road they had already left behind. He caught the look of a hobbit sitting under two high trees, growing by the edge of a small clearing surrounding by bushes and foliage. Something among the green stirred, making Lifae flinch and frown, but when he concentrated his gaze and his hearing there was ... nothing.

Nothing. It had just been a soft breeze flickering the leaves, nothing more.

A hand on his shoulder startled him. "Lifae, would you like to have something to eat?" Legolas inquired softly. Lifae quickly composed himself and turned a glance to the prince, who had followed his line of sight.

"No ... I am not hungry, my lord," he said a bit mind-absently, his eyes wandering back to the bushes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, my prince," Lifae murmured.

Legolas frowned a little. "Is something wrong? You seem so distracted again ... Are you feeling something amiss, Lifae?"

The wood-elf tore his gaze from the foliage. "There was nothing but a breeze but I do yet feel ... There is something, but I do not know what."

Legolas nodded. "All right ... Keep yourself on alert." He would do the same himself. "But I am sure nothing will happen. You need some rest, and I do think you need to eat. Well, hurry if you want any food, or else the halflings will claim it all."

Lifae nodded, and let his gaze rest on the grass while the prince made his way back to the others, gathered beside the road. The hobbits were bickering about something, while Aragorn and Éomer had been pulled into a conversation of some diplomacy, he thought – Legolas was not really listening. He had never had any higher interests in politics. He smiled as he joined his friends, and Arwen and he fell into their own tongue as they started to speak. But Legolas remained standing even when he spoke and ate; he needed to stretch his legs and muscles a little. Lifae did not join them.

"So when will we reach Edoras?" Pippin asked over a mouthful of bread.

"We will reach Fenmark, in the Eastfold, within a two days," Éomer informed the hobbits. "From there, it will just be an hour or so by horse to Aldburg, an old city of Rohan. Then we are not far from my hometown. We should be able to reach Edoras on mid-day the same morning we leave Aldburg. But first we need to pass by Firien Wood, though."

This caught Legolas' interest, when he heard about the forest. They would soon be in a forest, albeit small. It sounded wonderful. He had not been in any forest for weeks. Very little did he know about the roads here, since last time he was here they had not sued many roads and with Aragorn they had traveled the Paths of Dead, instead of here.

With a small smile gracing his lips at the hobbits' antics – they were urging, quite eagerly, Éomer to talk about his homeland - he took seat next to Éomer on the grass, his side touching the man's. Legolas listened a little faintly, taking in the information more subconsciously – he was more focused on the man's callused hand reaching out and taking his, fingers entwining with the elf's slender ones. It felt good to be near Éomer again, much better than sitting on a horse all hours of the day, no matter how good a horse Arod was.

Legolas knew he must soon learn of Rohirrim culture, language and ways, both to fit in more and not to insult anyone by doing the wrong thing. The horse-people differed from Gondorians and other people of Mankind he had met, such as the men from Lake-Town. Luckily he was an elf and elves were in general fast learners. What he was only worried about was the people, if they would accept him, how they would react towards having an elf among them on a daily basis ... An elf to wed their King? A male elf, male yet able to carry children? Some would not like it, and he grew annoyed at the thought that some may grow confused at even which gender he was of.

"Aldburg is Rohan's oldest city," Éomer was saying, "built early after Rohan was founded ... It held the seat of kings until the second king Brego moved the seat to the Golden Hall of Meduseld, Edoras that is; Aldburg was our capital during Éorl's rule." He paused for a moment. "It has been several years since I have been there last, but I do know who is the Marshal placed there. I choose him myself the day I was given the throne. We will be given much hospitality."

Some time later, they were on their way again, after a meal on bread and cheese. Legolas longed for a warm, soft bath and a comfortable bed and hot food. The trek before them felt so long now when he had been for so many weeks and months in the stillness and safety within Minas Tirith, and he just wanted to relax again. '_You are growing lazy,'_ he told himself. _'Now that will not do. What would the archers think, a warrior giving in so easily to luxury and comfort? This is a journey on horse-back.'_

Two days … two more days before they once again would reach Aldburg. Hopefully they would cross a village before that, or some kind of civilization. Legolas had always been an elf not caring too much of comforts, of a hot meal everyday, or sleeping on a soft bed every night; he enjoyed adventuring, venturing in forests and upon hills for days just for the sake of getting away, feeling the breeze play with his hair. Never before had he longed this much to be back in luxury and smooth life that usually was living in a palace deep in Mirkwood. Where there not any village with a tavern or inn by the boarders? Or had much been ruined by the war?

Riding was uncomfortable and his shoulders ached constantly. Not to mention the baby inside of him, who had decided it was a great time to play and stretch now when its mother sat upon a horse. Legolas managed to hold back his annoyance and tiredness from his tone when he spoke to others, who Lifae probably monitored his slightest movement and felt his emotional change, but that was it; his smile was forced and he did not enjoy conversation, not even with Éomer. For over an hour, Legolas sat silent while he rode, staring out at the rode before them. Moss, stone, footsteps, moss, grass, stone, road, trees, bush, grass, gravel beneath the horse's hooves …

The horse's trampled on the mossy road, crawling through the woods. Arwen, who rode on a sidesaddle – "How uncomfortable isn't that?" Pippin had asked, with a glare from his cousin, "You don't speak like that to a Queen, Pippin!"– softly spoke to Aragorn; on her request they stopped after nearly five hours, which had been much time for Legolas to muse.

He realized how dearly he missed Gimli, the banter they had, the light jokes and the fierce glares they would throw one another during endless battles between two very stubborn souls. He longed to see him again, even if it meant having to stand back watch him have stupid drinking games in Edoras beneath the golden ceiling of Meduseld. The dwarf maybe could have been able to enlighten the moment.

Gladly he slid of Arod's back; Éomer put his arms around him to help even though it was not necessary.

While camp was set up, the halflings helped tying the horses to poles so they would not run away, then went for their own fun. Sam to help to cook in one of the pots he had been given by Aragorn, since he had lost his dear own in Mordor, and Merry engaging Pippin in a swordplay. Sending them an amused glance, Legolas remembered the day so long ago, in Hollin before they tried to cross the mountains; it had been about the same scene. Though then Boromir had been …

He shook his head. He should not think of those memories now nor of the dead man. Still he felt a tinge of guilt every time Boromir's name was mentioned; if there was something he had done different, could have done, would have …

Aragorn called Éomer to himself, leaving Legolas by the edge of camp. Further away, Lifae stood, gazing ahead. Immobile like a statue, tall and lean with his hair tied down his back in braids, fists wanting to grip the handle of a weapon. He still carried his longbow with him. Like always. The prince approached him from behind, making his steps a ghostly whisper across the grass. He had not sneaked upon Lifae since …

He managed not to finish the thought before said elf spun on the spot, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Prince Legolas!" he exclaimed, expecting an enemy or stranger by old reflexes.

Legolas sighed. "Again, I did not manage to sneak more than two feet closer to you. How could you know someone was approaching? You looked quite unfocused on the present ..."

"So you took the opportunity when it presented itself," Lifae finished for him. "My prince, I am far older than you and cannot be so easily tricked. Mayhap your feet has weighted down a little?"

"Easily? I could sneak on you when I was five!" Legolas defended himself. He humphed. "And me, gaining weight? Nay it must just be the child then. He is so heavy. How could someone so small weight so much?"

Lifae's eyes twinkled as he smirked at him, the slight pulling at the corner of his lips that flashed by fast enough for Legolas to catch the movement. "Yes, how could _someone_ so small …" Lifae began.

The younger elf punched his arm, trying to hold back his smile with annoyance. Yet he could not be angry at Lifae for too long. "Do not dare say anything! Do not dare!" he said. "I am not small!" he added firmly. How many times had Lifae not called him small, little, young and short? He no longer could count.

There was a cry of delight from the camp, coming from one of the hobbits. "I believe dinner is served," Legolas said. "Come, Lifae, there is no need to stand staring at the road … You must be hungry." Laying a hand on his shoulder, he led Lifae back to camp and forcefully put a bowl filled with stew and a piece of bread in his hands before the guard could protest. To make a point, Legolas slipped into the Elvish tongue; "Eat." What he meant was, 'You cannot get away this time'.

The hobbits chattered but soon their voices quieted, as they became more busy with food and the sounds of nightfall around them. Somewhere among the bushes sang crickets, and at the distance an owl hooted, but there was nothing else, no disturbance. It was an incredibly still night.

Lifae thought, for a moment, he saw from the corners of his eyes he saw a shadow slip away in the dark – but it must be a fidget of his imagination, or simply just one of the soldiers from Rohan or Gondor walking away to do their business. He returned to the stew without glancing back at the trees.

Silence overlapped the company as they ate. Evening fell over the camp. For this journey, tents, alike to those used by the Rohirrim before the battle of the Pelennor Fields, had been brought with them. The handful of temporary buildings were placed around the fire in a circle, casting long shadows into the woods behind.

The guards that came from Minas Tirith did not mind sharing the ceiling to sleep under. But the soldiers from Rohan had to partly be without tents. Some left to camp half a mile away, not being part of the travelers at nightfall. Gandalf's bedroll lay spread out in the hobbits' tent but the wizard himself was by the edge of camp, seated on a stone, smoking his pipe. When Arwen retired for the night, Aragorn did not join her at first, and instead took his pipe and sat next to the wizard. Legolas shook his head, a bit amused, as well a bit annoyed. The smell drifted over the wind and Legolas did not understand this bad habit that Men and Dwarves and Wizards seemed to share. Luckily, Éomer was not a part of the smokers. Said man was not yet asleep, and had gone to tend the horses.

Lifae had made sure to Legolas that it was strictly forbidden to him to be alone with the man and out of sight the same time. Legolas only sighed, knowing Lifae was protective, stubborn and a very … dedicated … guardian. There was nothing he could do. He and Lifae were to rest in the same tent.

Soon one by one dropped into sleep. The sky was dark now. Legolas, however, could not sleep yet. He sat by the dieing fire, hands folded in his lap, his gaze traveling between the fire and the stars on the sky above. The dream he had had started to return in his mind. He was afraid, he admitted, because it had been so vague and he could not say what it meant. Had it been it a Dream, or a simple nightmare? Did it mean anything, and if that was the case, what?

"My prince?" whispered a quiet voice. "It is late and we leave early tomorrow. You should rest."

Legolas did not look at the speaker, already knowing who it was. "Yes, I will come soon, Lifae … I just want a moment. It is a very beautiful night …" The air felt crisp against his skin.

"All right. Be not out here for too long, princeling. I will retire … Good night."

Now he looked a bit to the side, towards Lifae's voice, but could not crane his neck to look at him. "Good night," he murmured. When the elf moved into their tent, he heard not his steps, only the rustle of fabric as the flap was opened and closed. Legolas waited for long moments. He was tired but because of the Dream and all the thoughts of it, he could not move from the spot and go to sleep. He could not sleep. He did not want to sleep. If a dream reappeared, then every one would wonder, and Lifae would be _unbearable _over-protective, wanting to shield him from the world, as if that could help. Maybe he should have told him, or anyone, before they left …

Maybe Éomer. But Éomer did not even know of the dreams … did he? … So he needed to explain first … later …

With a start he lifted his gaze, and shivered. Sleep had almost claimed him and he sat on the ground, a bit numb, shivering with darkness all around him except for the smooth glow left in the ashes of the fire. It was cold! He had been sitting here longer than he'd thought …

On stiff legs, he stood and stretched like cat, before silently crossing the grass and opened the tent carefully. Inside he saw Lifae entangled in a blanket. He had not thought of it before – he had known Lifae for so long – but Lifae, unlike many other elves, did not sleep lying still through a night. At the moment he lay on the side, arm pressed against his chest, and his hair was a bit of a mess. Legolas was hit by a shot of amusement, thinking how alike a young Estel Lifae looked from this angle.

Careful not to wake him, he closed the tent again and laid down on his bedroll and snuggled up in his blankets. He could not resist sleep for more than a moment, and he fell into a soft warm slumber.

_--_

When night fell, he dared not to sneak closer their camp more than some three feet. If any guard was alerted or any of the elves awoke, they were as good as dead. None of them were exactly longing for that moment.

Crunching on the ground, the figure spied between the leaves. Some fifty feet away, between a group of tents, a fire cast a yellow glow over the surrounding forest before it was swallowed by darkness. Gently, he moved forward, one small step, careful not to break any dry twigs, breaking the silence. He could not risk it. He just wanted a view … How many guards were there in the area? Where were they? And where did the royals rest right now?

For two days they – he and his men led by their captain – had followed these strange travelers of different species. For two days they had been lucky to go unseen. Had these been only Men or Hobbits they were tracking, it might have been easier. But now they were uneasy as there was a wizard and three elves among the group. First they had thought only there would be one, the one with golden hair, yet the Queen of Gondor was there as well, with a strange elf they had never seen before or heard of. Three times this day, had he and his men almost been seen by this strange dark-haired elf, and only cheer luck and the golden elf's interruption had saved them.

At the moment, he could not spot any of the elves, and it raised his courage some and he moved a silent step forward. Still nothing. He was only sure the elves were in a tent, asleep or pretending to be, if not they were speaking in private in that odd elf tongue of theirs. The silence enfolded him. He could not hear the sparkling of the fire or the crunching of leaves from far away. Ah wait – there. Huddled by the fire he could spot a figure now; not an elf, nor a hobbit. An old man. The wizard!

As silently and quickly as he could he started to back away. If the wizard saw him, who knew what he would do. They'd torture him but he had been tongue-tied and could not say a word of this captain, his men, or his orders. He was not ready to die yet!

Sparing one last glance at the soft glow between the trees, he held his breath and slipped away into the shadows again to report to the Captain what he had seen.

It was a fast walk of teen minutes away; yet, it took him almost half an hour to sneak in silence there. They were cold and alone, had only sparse with food and lit no fire. They could not risk being detected. All time they had traveled using old paths tramped by deer and other kinds of animals, sometimes not any paths at all – the roads were too dangerous to travel on. If anyone passed, they would wonder why a party of twenty armed men were doing in the wild now when the War was over.

Half of the company was asleep on the hard ground. The other was either in deep silence or staring out at the forest around in unease. They were ready to leave, and their blood soared for battle; why not attack now and claim what the Master had demanded to have? Why need to wait and only monitor the travelers now? They were within reach!

The only sound was that of the woods around them and the very soft whispering exchanged between one for the men and the Captain, a huddled dark-cloaked figure.

"Captain," the man whispered once he was close enough, "Captain."

Dull eyes looked up. "News?"

The man shook his head and gave his short report. "Nothing. Everyone at camp appear to be asleep. There is a fire lit. Stormcrow is awake, though."

The Captain curved his lips in a cold smile of malice, while the men around him started at the mention. They were afraid of the wizard like they feared their master; but the Captain, though appearing pleased, was angry. He could, right now, take a vial and a throwing knife and end it all together for Gandalf Stormcrow, the devil in his plans.

"How many nights more must we wait?" the man whispered to his Captain, uncertain yet urgent to know. After this mission was done, they were to be given payment. So what was the Captain and Master waiting for? What part of the plan had not been mentioned?

A thick eyebrow was raised. "Do you question my Master's orders?" the Captain hissed. "We shall follow until they leave this forest, follow so tightly on their trail they could not have imagined. Then by the open plains it is too dangerous to be in groups and we are easily spotted; those devil elves should have their eyes cut out." By now all men had raised their heads to listen and some had risen the others, urging them to listen. "We follow them, yet. These are the orders: once we get from the shelter of trees we must travel lightly at night. We must keep much more distance between ourselves … and those we are following. Anything unclear?"

No one uttered a word. There was total, heavy silence. The men looked at him with glinting eyes, speaking of harsh lives and blood and murder. The Captain licked his pale lips. "Good … good. By dawn, we shall leave. You."

One of the men started and met the Captain's gaze, forced himself to hold it. Even if he was more muscular and stronger in body than the Captain, the other's so very cold dull gaze bore into him, broke his inner defenses, and he managed not to hold the green eyes for long.

"You watch them tonight."

He made it to his feet and sheathed his old sword that lain by his feet. Just as he turned to leave, he froze as a hiss cut through the dark silence.

"And if you are caught … Not. A. Singe. Word."

--

He awoke to voices. A cry outside. Someone calling his name. Someone was stroking his shoulder, which sat once struck him as odd. Someone telling him to awake, a soft murmur against his ear; yet the soft touch wanted to lull him to sleep.

"Legolas, wake now. It is long past dawn and a warm fine morning. Can't you hear, the birds are singing!"

Legolas groaned and tried to grab for a pillow to cover his head with, he felt so tired, he could sleep forever. Unfortunately the only pillow he had rested beneath his head, which felt strangely heavy.

"Lemmesleep…"

A soft chuckle startled him. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes started to focus again. By his side there was a pair of knees, a torso, a face … He blinked, he had not been expecting … "Éomer?"

"Wake now, love. We let you sleep some more seeing how tired you were. This is the only tent still standing that we're in…" The man bent down an placed a kiss on his neck, before he went to his feet. Legolas wanted grab for him to tell him to stay, but Éomer paused by the tent flap and smiled at him. "I will fetch breakfast for you."

As the man disappeared, Legolas fell down on the pillow with a tired sigh. He had slept deeply tonight, without any dreams, not a single word; at least of what he could recall. He was still tired, wanting to go back to the warm sleep where nothing could disturb him. Slowly, he reached for his pack by the foot of the bedroll and digging it though, found a tunic. Yesterday night he had been too tired to change clothes at all. Holding back a yawn, he replaced his current tunic with the other, something his father had left him; a two-layered red and brown made out of linen. The dark colours stood out from his usual outfit of greens. He untied his hair from the braids but did not tie it in new ones.

The smell of food drifted over to him. Éomer came back with his hands full. "You hadn't needed to bring so much," Legolas said even as he gladly accepted the food. He had settled down upon the blankets again.

Éomer sat down close beside him. "You need to eat. I heard your guard complaining of your weight twice yesterday when he though no one noticed."

"…Lifae," Legolas answered like out of the blue, between two bites from the bread with cheese. This tasted good! The soup did not smell bad either. Sam must have been cooking again.

"Lifae?" Éomer repeated.

"My guardian; that is his name." Legolas spooned the soup. It was hot on his tongue but he enjoyed the flavour, and his suspicious about Sam's cooking was confirmed. For a moment he ate in silence and Éomer did not speak either, but did sneak his hands around his waist. It took a few minutes before Legolas realized, "I thought they would not allow us to be alone?"

"They can ear us and I swear that Lifae is peeking at us though some crack of the tent," Éomer said. Legolas gave him an amused glance, and thought that Éomer could be quite right on both parts.

With a satisfied sigh he put down the empty bowl, empty as in a few drops of soup at the bottom. Even if he was done eating and ready to unpack and leave now, Éomer did not let go, hands nested atop of his stomach.

"Love, I am quite ready to be on now …"

The man smiled against his ear. "But I am so comfortable here right now. Would it hurt to wait a few moments? I'm sure the others would not mind …" His hands tightened, albeit carefully, in their grip.

Legolas realized his defeat and fell into his embrace instead of resisting it. Snuggling up against the man's chest he allowed himself to yawn. "When will we reach Edoras?" he murmured.

Éomer pulled a hand through the elf's long hair, twiddling a few soft strands between his fingers. "In five days," he answered.

Enjoying the man playing with his hair, the elf hummed against his neck. "I cannot wait to arrive," he said. After a moment he added, "Will you let me go now? I am sure the others have waited long enough …"

"All right. But may I have a payment first, for bringing you breakfast? A kiss?" Éomer said, at which Legolas answered by kissing his lips before trying to untie the man's arms from around his body. Resultantly Éomer let him free, but he wanted to hold him forever. If only they were in Edoras …

He longed for his home, his people. They might not even know he was their King! Yes, there had been a messenger sent to tell the grave news of Théoden's death, but the people might not accept him as their king. He was Théoden's nephew, not his son. Nor was he sure how they would react about Legolas. If he took a wife of Mankind no one could protest, but a male elf? He was worried not for his own but for Legolas and the child. He would not let them be harmed … He could not …

He was caught by said elf's gaze from the opening of the tent, standing half in shadow half in sunlight. Legolas smiled. "Will you come now, love, or do you enjoy being left behind while we leave for Edoras by ourselves?"

--

After three days' travel they left the woods behind. To their left hand, a spine of mountains stretched on and on. Before them awaited grassy hills and a gravel road. Legolas could not spot its end. But soon, he hoped, he would see a fortress by its end, surrounded by walls of wood and golden houses. Aldburg could not be more than some thirty miles from them now. With the knowledge that soon they would again be near real beds, a hot bath and a full table quickened their pace.

Along the road, following its every turn, was a stream of water; Legolas realized it was at least one of the water supplies to Aldburg, connected to Ent River.

They did not reach the gates of the city until nightfall. It was settled upon the grassy hills, on a not so very steep slope. There was a fortress of stone in the centre, surrounded by another wall of wood. In between, houses, buildings and stables made of wood and roofs glinting like gold in the sun, had been settled. Even if the city was no longer the capital, it was quite old and had expanded beyond the main fortress itself. From where he sat on Arod's back Legolas could see it in very much detail, and on each side of the gate were placed watchtowers of different sizes along the wooden wall. He catch a glimpse of one of the guards, blonde hair beneath ha helmet, his spear reflecting the sunlight like a dot.

Éomer had their green standards carrying the white horse and rider unfolded. He called two his men to him, and one rode by each his side carrying the flag of Rohan. One rang in a horn to make the whole city aware of their presence. The tone flew across the open landscape. Legolas started to feel uneasy. He knew very well why Éomer announced his presence, he was a King after all, and Legolas was a prince so it was not unheard of to him; yet he did not like it. Everyone would come to see the King arrive and they would see him as well, riding by Éomer's side, an elf … He did not liked to be at centre of attention and being stared at by so many strangers ...

As they neared the gate opened wide to let them inside. It was wide enough to let three horses inside at the time. Legolas took a deep breath before they entered. Somehow Éomer must have known of his uneasy, for he felt the man reach out and grasp his hand for a moment.

The buildings behind the gates were alike to those he had seen in Edoras, long and not so very tall. From one or another stable, a horse stuck out its head in couriosity at the passing travelers and their steeds. Unlike Edoras had been when the Three Hunters and Gandalf had come there, Aldburg was not in dead silence, though people paused in their work as the company rode past. Men, women and children were outside working or playing. From the corner of his eye, Legolas spotted two youngsters chasing each other. A dog barked in the distance. From the only tavern in the city, a small building with an old worn site hanging by the door, a voice called out that they were closing for the night.

But many of the people here were poor. The War's effects were still at work here and Legolas felt pity for these people who, after so many harsh years of cold winters and bad crops, slowly were starting to recover.

Before the gate that led to the fortress itself, they stopped but only some dismounted. The royal couple from Gondor, Éomer, the hobbits and himself yet waited. The guard by the gate called out something that Legolas could not quite understand, a command in Rohirric, he guessed.

The sturdy gate that was the only way into the fortress itself was opened. Jogging down a five-step stair came a man clad in helmet, with a sword hanging sheathed in his belt. Legolas studied him from a distance. Like the inhabitants, he also had blonde hair, in a shade of lemon chrome, and it fell in tresses to his shoulders were it had been cut rather in a hurry. His whole appearance was the one of a warrior still trying to cope with the effects of war, ready to go back to the battlefield if so was needed, as well as doing his best for the people. His clothing was worn but at a better state than most of the other inhabitants', the fabric better than theirs. This was a leader of some kind. Was this the Marshal that Éomer had spoken of?

The frown on the man's face was replaced by a look of relief and happiness. "Éomer, my lord!" he cried. "How good to see you." His eyes ran over the group, pausing on the elves and the hobbits more than anything else; he looked a bit bewildered. Lastly he looked upon Aragorn and Arwen, and he bowed. "I am honoured to finally meet you, My King and Queen of Gondor," the man said. "I am Erkenbrand, Marshal of the West-mark. If you come with me, there will be a meal prepared at once and you shall be given chambers to rest and bathe. My men will see your horses."

The hobbits slid off their ponies and Legolas heard Pippin mutter: "Can't sit upon those backs too long, it's far too uncomfortable." The elf smiled a little as Merry pinched his cousin's arm. "Don't start complaining yet! People are looking at us!"

It came no surprise to him when Éomer helped him to dismount Arod, with Lifae behind them watching their every move with care. Legolas was glad. That was the nearest an embrace he had been with Éomer for hours and he simply wished to kiss the man, but refrained strongly from that urge. '_This is not the time and place. What would the people here say?' _Legolas thought.

Yet Éomer still rested a hand on his arm as their horses were led to the stables, and the man offered him his hand silently as they were about to be led by Erkenbrand into the fortress. If this was what Éomer wanted, to make it official to his people now, then … The elf gave in and it felt good when his fingers entwined with Éomer's. There was no reaction from his friends and none of the Rohirrim uttered a word but he felt their gazes strangely on them, the odd couple walking up the stairs.

Éomer already knew this place, of course. He had visited here from time to time and was part his home, when he was not in Edoras. Erkenbrand had fallen into a short, gentle conversation with Aragorn and Arwen, so he had not noticed his and Éomer's clasped hands yet. The man's talk with the royal couple was not long. He led them into a stone building, which stood out and did not fit in this city of, mostly, wood. The ceiling was high and the walls not adorned. The pillars, though, held carvings adorned with gold, pictures and tales of horses and men and the history of Rohan.

They were led to a hall were tables were set. The hobbits' faces lightened up at the sight and smell of a dinner. For the occasion wine was served but Legolas only sipped slightly at the drink before only drinking non-alcoholic things. He remembered that the healers of Mirkwood had told him once about children, and that it was not good to consume alcohol while pregnant. He did understand that. He was not too fond of the effects it had and only touched wine or other such drinks when he had to; his father would never let him away from a feast in Mirkwood without tasting the wine. It was a must as a prince.

The food was good. Ripe meat, apples, potatoes; for once Legolas dared to consume more than just bread and soup. They were not about to ride again today or even tomorrow. They would rest here tonight, and the next day Éomer would make some arrangements with Erkenbrand about Rohirric or political matters in which Legolas was not very involved. But he had said to Éomer that he desired to be with him tomorrow, to know more of Rohan, and of the politics which however boring it was, was something he should know very well about.

Legolas paused cutting a piece of meat when Éomer stood, suddenly but silently, and pulled Erkenbrand aside to speak. Over the talk and laughter from the table Legolas could not disguise what was being said. He ate slowly, in the corner of his eyes watching the two men. There was a look of surprise of Erkenbrand's face. What were they speaking of?

A few minutes later Éomer sat down next to him again. "Éomer, what was that?" he wondered, softly.

The man hesitated, thinking, for a moment before he answered. "I told him about us, our engagement. Would you mind if I announced it here before we leave?"

Legolas smiled, nodding lightly. "No, of course not … but when? Just before we leave? Or today?" He almost babbled. Sudden nervousness bubbled up inside of him. After Éomer told the people here, everyone would know and it made him incredible nervous as well as happy. It was a realization that hit him – he was going to marry Éomer! It was like he had not know it before, the news that he was going to marry the one he loved. He was going to marry!

"I believe it is better we make an announcement quite soon, today, if case people wonder … I do not wish to hide with you," Éomer said.

They put the matter aside when the hobbits started to cheer and share drinks with the Men, as well retelling some vivid tales from their home-land. Dinner passed by smoothly. Afterwards, they were taken to different rooms to refresh themselves, bathe and change clothing. Legolas felt eyes burning on him. He wondered if any of the people living here fought at Helm's Deep or at the Pelennor fields, if anyone remembered or recognized him. Realized he had changed and grown. What were they thinking?

He was led to a room between Éomer's and Aragorn and Arwen's. There was only one bed in the chamber, surrounded by stone floors and stone walls, softened by a red carpet and a heavy curtain draped across the wall opposite to the door. The four had a shared bathroom but none of them minded, as far as Legolas knew, except for perhaps Arwen. She was after all female used to Rivendell and Lothlórien, not cities of Men; Minas Tirith was different from Aldburg as well.

Despite for only one bed, Legolas knew Lifae would not mind. He was not sure if the guard would sleep at all. For all he knew, the guard could make sure he was safely asleep and then slip away for an hour or two, seeking the rooftops to look at the stars. Or, Eru be with him, seek out the hobbits to play chess. Legolas was not sure which.

With musings in the back of his mind, he bathed, washing away the dirt from the journey on horseback, and dressed in finer clean clothing. Apparently his whole wardrobe from Mirkwood had been transported to Minas Tirith and now with them, to go to Edoras with them, and Legolas guessed once the people here knew of his and Éomer's engagement, a more Rohirric outfit would be created. He only was bothered that Lifae insisted he wear silk now while in Aldburg, to show his status. Oh, he hated that and these clothes and this ridiculous attention. Why was Lifae so pressing on the matter? Thranduil's secret orders to keep him the Princeling all along? _'I will speak with him later about that,' _Legolas thought, _'and write to my father.'_

After bathing and dressing, Legolas stuffed away his traveling outfit in his room and went in search for Éomer. The man's room was empty. When the elf knocked on the door on the other side, it was Arwen who opened. "Legolas! I didn't expect you," she said with a smile. "Come on in."

"Hello, Arwen."

She had taken off her outer dress and wore a white linen one beneath, but she was not bothered over the fact that she was as well as naked in this undergarments, by human standards at least, and alone with her friend. Elves were not so very concerned about nakedness and hiding their bodies. Especially not when one was married and the other betrothed to another. Subconsciously, Legolas noted that anyone of Mankind would grow very surprised and suspicious if they were seen like this.

Legolas stepped inside. The room was alike to his own. "Where is Aragorn?" he wondered.

"With King Éomer and the Marshal, Erkenbrand, I believe. Legolas, could you help me undo my braids?" she asked. She seated herself on the bed and Legolas sat down behind her, starting working on her hair. He had done this before on his friend. They were like brother and sister. Spending time with Arwen was very different and often very much calmer than to be with her brothers. She had this eerie stillness and seriousness that her brothers did not posses to the same degree. Simply because they did not want to. Arwen's locks were smooth. Legolas thought she did not fit in braids.

"Have you decided yet when it will be?" Arwen asked suddenly, catching Legolas' train of thoughts.

"When what will be?" he wondered.

She laughed. "You and Éomer's wedding of course. I'd love to be there."

"You are always welcome, you surely must know, dear Arwen." Legolas let go of her hair, and it fell over her narrow shoulders in dark waves. "I am not sure … We have not decided on any day or month yet. But I cannot wait 'til then, whenever it will be."

Arwen looked at him with smiling eyes. "Of course. Send me an invitation as soon as you can. Aragorn will be delighted as well. Will the hobbits come?"

"I do not know. After all they have to go back to the Shire," Legolas said with a small smile, fingering at the robe he was wearing. "Of course I would love if they came. I cannot let them go without visiting someday …" He had grown attached to the halflings the same way he loved Gimli; their laughter and light banter. He was used to it now and they lay dear to his heart.

Arwen answered his smile before going up to stand before the mirror in the room, a round slightly buckled thing hanging on the wall. It gave not a very clear image at all places but it could not suppress the elf's beauty. Out from a pack placed on the floor, she pulled out a carefully folded dress in deep blue. "Father gave me this before he left," Arwen murmured quietly. Her eyes darkened with sadness when mentioning Elrond, now across the Sea, and Legolas was also silent where he still sat on the bed. He had also, if not loved, liked Lord Elrond, found comfort and peace in his Last Homely House as it was called, and not so few times he had found healing there after trips accidentally gone wrong along with Estel and the twins.

The silence was broken by the soft rustle of fabric. Arwen unfolded the long garment in her hands and held it out before her body, giving an image of how she'd look with it put on. Beneath the layers of blue, Legolas could spot autumn red. A golden silken belt hung around the waist in a loose knot. "I think I will wear it on the feast," Arwen continued, her voice a bit louder now. "In Edoras. How do I look?" she asked, turning around to face him.

A wide grin broke out on Legolas' face. "Lovely, as usual. Estel fell for your charming beauty, indeed. You should wear that more often than just on the feast."

The sadness in Arwen's eyes was replaced by a more happy look and it warmed Legolas' heart. "Flatterer," she teased warmly. "I hope you are not trying to seduce me? Oh, what if Éomer found out?"

"I am not," Legolas defended himself. "So you are quite safe. And everyone loves flattering," he added with a chuckle.

"Hmm," she murmured, turning back to the mirror to inspect herself. "I liked this. It is smooth but thick, this fabric. I would not mind one in silver colours, though. With golden petals along the front …"

Recognizing the dreamy look on her face, Legolas rolled his eyes and laughed.

--

He did not manage to find Éomer that evening, before going to bed. It disappointed him and even if Éomer surely had a reason to, it did not exactly soothe him. He had not even spotted the man, less spoken to him, since dinner …

He had been with Arwen, Liafe and the hobbits. Arwen enjoyed the elven, and hobbit, company. She had retired early, though, when Aragorn had come back and sought her out smiling at her. Legolas was disappointed to find that Éomer was not with him.

When he went to his chambers to sleep, he did not see a sign of Éomer. The door to the man's room was opened slightly and dark inside, any lamps or candles unlit, the windows firmly closed. Legolas went to bed with a gloomy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was actually jealous about Erkenbrand and Aragorn being with Éomer!

When crawling beneath the sheets he heard soft footfall outside; immediately he sat up, hoping that it was Éomer to come, knock at the door …

Lifae carefully opened the door. "Legolas, prince, are you asleep?" he said very softly, though it was stupid to ask now when said elf was sitting in the centre of the bed.

"Obviously, no," Legolas answered, annoyed, trying hard to hold back the edge of his voice, but failing.

Sensing something was amiss fort he prince, Lifae gave a short nod and did not go inside the room. The prince needed some time alone, he felt, to wear the irritation off; or rather he needed the company of someone he could not give. It was obvious for Lifae whom Legolas was longing after.

"Sleep, my prince; I will be nearby if you need me. Good night."

Legolas muttered something under his breath. "'Night …"

As the door closed with a soft thud, Legolas crawled into the sheets again, resting his head upon the pillow. For long moments he was unable to sleep. He kept staring at the ceiling and in his mind imagined to hear steps outside the door. But there were none. No soft knock. No one opened the chamber and whispered his name. He did not know how long time passed; but I could have been hours before he finally found sleep, and slept too deep to be awoken by any steps or voices.

--


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's note**: It was a long delay. Again. My plot-bunny has been stolen! Bad bunny. I count to three for you to show up again, wherever you are, or you're not going to like it nor will the readers - one … two …

Short translation: "Ergár" is a Rohirric name (of an original horse in my mind), from _eorcan _(precious, jeweled) and _gár_ (spear). The name may seem strange/unmotivated, but I think it fits a lively fierce creature. Said horse has been used in war and on battlefields, and saved lives (therefore it is precious and valuable). I think that explains some. There will appear one or two more names of OCs here, from Rohan, as seeing we are in Edoras now. But I do lack some names for them … Most characters will be unnamed here, which is sometimes confusing. So if anyone got ideas of Rohirric names I'd be delighted! Thank you. (I'm thinking not only about this story but also of an alternative sequel to this … How does that sound?)

Also, if you wonder why there are bathing sheets used in this chapter (this is a random note, I know, until you've read said chapter) it is quite simply really. The bathing tubs are made of metal or iron, naturally (who in Middle Earth has ever heard of plastic, or whatever else things are made of nowadays?), so one or two layers of sheet prevents you from getting cold at once by the steel, even if the water is hot. Also it is a lot more comfortable.

Concerning dates: I have based my story calendar/dates on an overlooking 'time-line' which I found at **www . lordotrings . com /books /timeline. asp **(This timeline follows book-verse of course). I cannot say it is the right dates or information, or anything, because there are many different calendars (for Elves, Men, Hobbits, etc.) but to make things simple I have used this one. According to it (and I hope it is right) came Gandalf to Frodo to tell him about the ring at 12th April the year 3018 Third Age (T.A.). The ring is destroyed the 25th Mars the year 3019 T.A.

I have set the due date for Legolas' child at July 25th the year 3019 T.A. (Or should it be year 1 F.A., since after the destruction of the Ring, the new Age began?).

Anyway, I have always been a bit fuzzy about time in this story and I do not think I can straighten everything out now, but I'll do my best. Yet I have changed a few dates, at which Arwen and Aragorn married at the 21st June (according to the book it should be in July, apologizes about that) and the funeral of Théoden is set at 12th July (according to the book it was August 10th). It was needed to fit in the time-frame of this story. In this chapter, there is a feast four days after Théoden's funeral, 16th July, and Gimli arrives one day before that. Yay! Gimli's back!

I'll give another of these 'date updates' in the next chapter, both for you and me to keep track on things …

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Tolkien-characters, places, or other mentioned facts or things or atomic material. Middle Earth nor the One Ring does belong to me, although, the latter would not be so bad to have in my possession if it could somehow magically transport me to Arda and … Hm, let's not get into that too much. Uh, I don't own anything you recognize to be Tolkien's or Tolkien Estate's. Original characters are my own (_my preciousss little own charactersss…_). This chapter introduces some more OCs than before, including two horses. One horse and one pony, okay.

**Reviews**:

glostarz: Thank you!

DevilChile: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Suspense is fun : ) For me, that is, not so sure about you other guys … Don't hurt me, and by Eru, don't kill me about this! Oh, and I found some more maps at the Internet of Arda, but if I use Rohan's geography in more detail, either here or in another story, I think I'll have to make up a village or two with my imagination … There's not that much info about Rohan, geographically, or is it? For me distances are a bit confusing, as there is a long of English miles and feet, and I've never used those measures before (I stick to kilometers and meters). But enjoy this, and hopefully next chapter will soon come …

whytman: Thanks! Yeah, I had thought of them to Edoras arriving but it took so long time to write – I was and still feel a bit like struck by writer's block – but hopefully this will do … And enjoy! I wonder if anyone's figured out who 'the Captain' is in this gang of strangers following our heroes, eh?

--

**Chapter 37**

--

When he awoke next morning, his annoyance had started to wear off. He had had no dreams, and his sleep had been deep and calm, going undisturbed.

He dressed and then found his way through the fortress back to the main hall; Arwen and Aragorn were not there but Merry and Pippin sat on a cushioned bench by a table in the corner, enjoying a breakfast. People bustled in and about in the hall, glancing at him but not speaking to him. Glancing out through one of the windows, Legolas saw that the town was awake.

The hobbits called to him to come over when they saw him. "Here, have something to eat," Pippin said once Legolas was seated in front of them. "We've got cheese and eggs, tomatoes and nice crispy bacon."

"It's very good. At least these people know how to cook," Merry said. "This porridge for example. This is more a real breakfast than only apples."

"It's not their cooking, Merry, it was Sam in the kitchens remember?" Pippin reminded him. "He and Frodo are like most other hobbits the best cooks in the world, and in addition Sam's a good gardener too."

"It's not their cooking! It does not take this way, and I bet they forgot the mushrooms somewhere or took it all for themselves," Merry said. "How do you know that they made food at all, Pip? Were they not asleep?"

Pippin shook his head. "No. I can tell the difference between a sleeping hobbit and an awake one, you know. I actually accompanied them to the kitchens this morning, and helped them to find the eggs and the tomatoes …"

Merry looked at him sternly. "Are you telling me the three of you didn't ask for help or permission and instead just took over the kitchen and stole food to make us breakfast?"

"Of course we had permission!" Pippin cried, offended. "We cannot just come here and use their kitchen without their permission, can we. It' neither right or very nice given the hospitality. Let me tell the story: me, Sam and Frodo decided it was time for breakfast, but none seemed to up and about to help us, so while you lay there snoring like a big oliph-"

"I was not snoring!"

By now, the pair had almost forgotten the fact that Legolas was there. The elf hid a small laughter and let them be; he decided to seek out the other two hobbits later, though, just to ask if Pippin was telling the truth. Ignoring the babble in front of him he turned his mind to breakfast instead. The hobbits had occupied the table with many sets of bowls and plates and spoons, and of course there was the food. Though Legolas did not feel especially hungry and contented himself with just some bread and milk.

He felt how the Rohirrim around them glanced at them, not as able to hide their curiosity like Gondorians had. But no one approached them and when Legolas looked at them attempting a smile and a nod in greeting they did not meet his eyes. These people, he thought, have never before seen an elf or any hobbits. Maybe they did not expect …' He glanced at the bickering pair again. Pippin argued Sam's great cooking and silently Legolas smiled and agreed him, Sam was a very good cook indeed.

After a while the two hobbits had come to an at least temporarily truce about the matter and returned to speak about more happy things, agreeing not to say against the other against about Sam or Frodo's cooking.

Pippin took a mouthful of porridge and jam. "I swear this is Sam's cooking. I swear," he muttered after swallowing.

Legolas smiled, having heard his words clearly. The elf finished his breakfast and excused himself from the table. He decided to explore these halls some and see if he could find either Éomer, Aragorn or Arwen. And where was Lifae? He had not seen his guard through morning. He could not be asleep could he? Perhaps he was with Arwen, enjoying some elven and more sensible company? Legolas could not help but smile at the thought. He could almost bet Lifae would have, at least sometimes, more liked to guard the elven Queen than him. Arwen was after all calmer, and in the option of many, wiser. Legolas did not blame them. She did not cause trouble.

Only a few minutes after the elf had left, Sam and Frodo emerged through one of the doors, carrying a tray each. "Merry, Pippin, it was you two wasn't it sneaking around taking all the porridge! And the apples!" Sam's sudden exclaim made said hobbits squirm uncomfortably In their seats. Well, the youngest of them, while Merry narrowed his eyes …

"Pip, what did you do?"

"I helped you with breakfast so I took some, yes, but it was all fair, and I couldn't wait for you," Pippin tried to defend himself.

Frodo shook his head, holding back a laugh. "Leaving us to do the cleanup ourselves? You must know, the kitchen staff are not that very pleased. They did ask where you went, you know."

Sam put down the food-filled tray on the table. "Mr. Frodo is right, see, they may be looking over the whole house and believed you took something from the drawers without them looking."

"I didn't and I wouldn't!" Pippin said.

Merry sniggered. "So everyone finally knows about the poor hungry hobbits they've got? Please tell them do more breakfast! We're starving here. This was only first breakfast. We soon need the second."

Frodo, taking seat next to him, nodded and broke a smile. "You're right, my friend. Maybe this time we can all do it together, asking for permission of course, and _cleaning_ the kitchen afterwards together too," he added.

Pippin could not help himself, and stuck out his tongue. Mostly it was aimed at himself. Even if he supposed Frodo was right it did not help doing cleaning. He was better at eating than cleaning up.

"Fine. But there are apples right?" he asked, suddenly very keen on knowing everything eatable and available.

Merry gave him a funny look. "I thought you were tired of apples."

--

In the meantime, Legolas found his way through the halls. People looked upon him with curious, sometimes frowning, gazes, and he felt uncomfortable beneath them. Not everyone here spoke Westron, he realized, when he asked a handful if they had happened to see the King or Queen of Gondor this morning. A man who looked much like a guard or warrior spoke Westron almost fluently and was looking delighted at being spoken to by an elf.

"This way, this way, master Elf," the man said.

Legolas nodded his thanks and followed, unconsciously tugging at the bottom of his dark-coloured tunic. The man first was silent, then after a while could not hold himself and started speaking in a hurried flow, telling about Aldburg and his home, asking questions when he dared. He wondered where the elf was from, what his name was, and how come he was among such company as he was.

Legolas almost laughed; "Yes, I was one of the Nine members of the Fellowship," he said. How fast the tales of the Quest had reached these people! Everyone seemed to know of also details that no one of the Fellowship had ever told anyone else, like what Aragorn and others had encountered on the Paths of Death, how many days they had just spent in Moria and so on. Much of this he also guessed was only overdone nonsense. "I am Legolas from Mirkwood, or Greenwood, as it once was called."

The man looked at him with wide eyes. "Then you must be a prince! I mean, I heard there was an elf prince in the Fellowship. Amazing! I'm sorry to be so straightforward, eh, I mean …" He seemed to struggle. After a moment he bowed. "My lord …"

"Please, call me by name," Legolas said.

The man nodded hesitatingly. Then nodded towards a door. "The King of Gondor and his Queen are in there, My lord … Legolas. There was also another of your fair kind last I looked … I do not know his name …"

Legolas smiled, knowing instantly where Lifae had been. "Thank you for guiding me here," he said. He knocked once at the door, before it was opened. It was Lifae who stood there, and at seeing the prince he nodded his head.

"My prince, forgive me for not finding or waking you; I …" he hurriedly began to explain his absence when Legolas cut him off with a laugh.

"Do not worry, Lifae. Now let me inside here. Were you playing chess again, hm?" As he stepped inside, Legolas remembered he did not know of his guide's name.

Aragorn sat by a chair and on the table was laid out a chess board. Lifae blushed, when feeling Legolas' gaze upon his neck. He had not though he would be caught doing anything, even playing chess. After all, he should not spend his time playing games without any idea where the prince was or had been. "Do not fear, Lifae," Legolas said. "I promise I shall never tell ada."

Arwen was not present in the room. "Over there," Aragorn nodded towards a door. "Erkenbrand gifted her with a dress this morning, and my dear wife was very insistent upon trying it on …"

Legolas took seat on a chair, set forth by Lifae, next to his guard and opposite to the man, and looked up from studying the board. "Now, are you jealous, my friend?" he wondered teasingly.

"Well, he _is_ taking some more attention to my wife rather than me …" Aragorn grinned at his own statement. He sounded a bit like a teenager. Piece of him felt like it, now when he was married to the Evenstar.

"You can hardly blame him!" Legolas said. "Have you not noticed how every gaze lights up Evenstar enters a room? You must know, she is very fair. And everyone one likes flattering and you are simply jealous that she is the one receiving it, not you."

"Are you blaming me for anything?" Aragorn wanted to know.

"Do you ever have in mind, dear Estel, that no matter how oft you stand before a mirror, you still have a very … ranger-y look?" Legolas wondered. "In many ways, you look disheveled; that long untied hair, the beard; like many a man you also attract very much to dirt and one day you will have an awfully ugly mustache … Hm, Arwen has a very particular taste."

Aragorn held back a laughter at the teasing and gently hit the elf's arm. "Watch your words, young prince. I might have to sent word to your father of your inappropriate behaviour." He did not mention that the elven prince must also have a 'particular taste', for Éomer did also have long untied hair and a beard, although he was blonde and not dark. He held back the retort that was on his tongue, when Arwen entered again.

She had changed her traveling dress against the new, and it was only slightly too large for her frame. The fabric was woven in golden and green. "Good morning, Arwen," Legolas said. "You look wonderful today."

"Good morning, Legolas."

Aragorn tried to desperately find words to say how beautiful Arwen was. No matter how she dressed, she looked wonderful, a word that Legolas just had stolen from him. "You are so beautiful, my love," he said and embraced her, just to imply just how beautiful she was.

She kissed his cheek. "I could not help but overhear a small discussion amongst you males, concerning my husband and a mustache," she said lightly.

Legolas smiled and came to his feet, deciding a small apologize was in order; even if Arwen seemed to take the matter lightly at the moment, he rather stay friends with her. Not a single time had the two argued and he would rather not do it over such a thing as Aragorn's beard. "My immense apologizes, fair lady. There was no offence meant, even though the King of Gondor and Arnor does have a little … strange look, concerning his status …"

Aragorn hissed something beneath his breath, but did not talk out loud. Legolas' words paused and the elf prince grinned. Taking Aragorn's silence to straighten the moment out again, he tried to change the subject:

"It is a wonderful weather today, is it not?" Legolas said lightly.

With laughter on her lips, Arwen trailed a finger town her beloved husband's stubby cheek.

"Ah yes it is," she agreed. "Finer weather could not reach these hills, a perfect sky to wander about, no matter how long shanks you have …" When she kissed Aragorn's cheek, he blushed in a way Legolas had never thought possible about his friend. Even Lifae laughed this time.

--

It took yet an hour before Legolas, with the help of Aragorn and Lifae on his heels, could find Éomer. They would leave quite soon – they had packed already, Arwen's new dress folded atop of her other clothing which she had brought, and the hobbits had finished both first and second breakfast and cleaned the kitchens. Legolas was not sure, but thought that they would probably be on their way after a lighter lunch.

He found Éomer was by the stables with Erkenbrand and a few others which the elf did not recognize, and all men beckoned the elves and Aragorn with bows and curious eyes. At the moment, Erkenbrand was trying to hold back a large, spirited horse, looking to have energy for two and a will just as strong as muscles. Westron and Rohirric words mixed.

The dark animal tramped where he stood, before lashing out, suddenly, almost kicking a man had he not been fast enough to move away. "Hold him!" Erkenbrand cried.

"Mayhap we could try to help?" Legolas suggested softly.

The men nervously nodded, obviously not knowing what to expect from an elf. Lifae laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "Think of the little one," he said in elvish. "I am not comfortable about this, and if you get hurt … I do know your attachment to trouble, princeling."

"I will not," Legolas answered, but in Westron instead. He had far days insisted that Lifae should speak more of Men's tongue. "Besides, I am no longer an elfling."

Lifae gave in, as usual, but shifted from foot to foot. He was not doubting the prince's abilities, only the safety of his child.

Murmuring in his own tongue, slowly walking closer, it took only a few moments before the horse's restless moves started to cease. Hesitatingly letting the elf closer, he leaned down, tasted the smell. The flow from the elf's mouth did not stop. As slowly as he could, he laid a hand on the horse's head and looked into large dark eyes.

"Why are you so upset, my friend?" he asked the large creature gently, falling into Sindarin, and it seemed to soothe the horse a little. "There is nothing to fear or be angry about. Calm now." Was the horse injured or sick? Or had he been treated wrongly? Questions filled Legolas' mind, and it worried him also because he had always been very protected about animals and nature. "What is your name, mighty one?" he wondered, trying to let his mind open up a little to feel the horse's lively spirit. But the horse refused anymore contact than his hands.

Soon the animal stood still and calm, and after the elf's reassuring, allowed the men to lead him into a stable and groom him. Éomer went to Legolas' side, looking as innocent as possible. "How could you manage that?" he asked softly.

"He is a good listener to the right speech," Legolas said, with a smile, trying o hide how excited and happy he was to be this close to the man, after so many hours apart. A few feet behind them, Lifae's shifting of weight had stopped, but he was still watching the elf prince closely.

"What is his name, this steed?" Aragorn asked one of the men.

"We call him Ergár, My lord," said the man.

"It is a fitting name, indeed, "Aragorn nodded. The steed was one a warrior would prefer, only if it was calmer; the fierce spirit must be tamed hardly. The man knew that if he said so out loud, Legolas would start arguing with him of how no one should be tamed harshly, or tamed at all. If it was anything that Legolas disliked with Men, it was that many looked at horses as objects and tools. Legolas did not ride, he was being carried by the horses; that was what he said and what elves in general said.

Éomer and Legolas were standing a bit aside from the group in conversation, but when one of the men asked for the king's attention Legolas felt disappointed when Éomer had to go, without even embracing him once. When was Éomer planning on making the announcement?

"Let us see how Arod and Galeil fares," Lifae suggested to Legolas, coming to his side. "They should be nearby."

Their horses were nearby, in a stable building next to this one, and Arod recognized his master instantly and neighed softly in greeting, poking his head out from his stall. "Hello, my friend," Legolas murmured and patted his side. "I hope you are taken well care of?"

In reply, Arod nudged his neck with a soft whine as if trying to embrace him. It made Legolas smile when the horse after that mostly ignored him and ate from the hay that was piled in the corner of the stall. Arod did not seem unhappy or displeased. It pleased Legolas immensely.

Lifae's mare Galeil, an elven horse that had been raised in Mirkwood, was in a stable opposite to Arod, and she too looked well and happy. The elves insisted on grooming their horses themselves now when they were there, instead of letting some stable boy do it. It were their horses, and friends, after all, and also Galeil were not so used of being around Mankind yet. Many Men made her nervous, and she backed a step and twitched her ears whenever someone came too close. Arod on the other hand was no elven horse and happily greeted everyone. If anyone made him nervous, it'd be Gimli – Legolas chuckled at the thought. Or maybe Arod missed the dwarf as well, like he did.

Aragorn and Arwen left for their own business, Erkenbrand following them; Legolas heard them speak about showing them around Aldburg's fortress, and about Minas Tirith and Rivendell's architecture and beauty.

Legolas spent long moments with Arod, and Arod enjoyed his company, even if he sometimes ignored the elf completely to eat, and greet whoever happened to pass the stable. "Soon we will be off again," Legolas told him. "Just be patient, my friend, and rest some before we ride. Soon we will be back in Edoras."

--

Time seemed to go so slow and Legolas found he had little to do. After visiting the stables, he played a round of chess with Lifae, but he knew he had been losing the game all along. ("You are twice my age at least, which gives you a lead, Lifae. It's not fair, and besides, are you not supposed to let me win?") He could not concentrate on anything. When lunch was served, he was happy. Something was happing at least, and at lunch he also saw everyone of his friends again and had no trouble at holding conversation.

Food passed by quickly and everyone were happy and stuffed afterwards, ready for the journey ahead. Only the hobbits were not, and asked for some fruits and meat to bring with them for afternoon tea. Afternoon tea! Legolas had thought it was a short meal containing a little cake and some tea, not a … well, meal, with food. He politely declined from bringing anything more along himself.

After lunch they broke up to pack again and fetch their horses. Éomer stayed to say a goodbye to Erkenbrand, and then Legolas found himself on his side when the man said he was going to make an announcement. It peaked Legolas' interest. He found himself holding his breath when, half and hour later, he and Éomer went outside the fortress and came looking the population of Aldburg in the eye. Standing upon a balustrade, Éomer spoke to the people using words that Legolas did not recognize. But the elf did hear his name mentioned, and he realized then what exactly Éomer was announcing to the people. It both gladdened him and made warmth rush up to his cheeks, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, let his eyes travel over the gathered people. Why if the people protested?

But when sweeping his gaze over the crowd, he saw nothing but surprised, cheering, faces. Most people looked at him and Lifae, standing in the background, in awe. Few of them had ever seen an elf before, and they had been delighted – though a little suspicious at first – when three elves had visited them in one day. Now one was going to be their King's consort! Perhaps their reaction also was because of Éomer's gently smiling face, perhaps, it was a relief after the war. Legolas did not know.

When they descended down the stairs to the open place where the others had gathered, horses by their sides, Éomer held Legolas' hand. This time Legolas did not wonder about it or what people might think. The people would have complained just earlier, if they had anything against the couple. The elf smiled.

"Why in Rohirric?" he wondered though, keeping his voice soft.

"The inhabitants of Aldburg, or most of them, only speak our native tongue. Our engagement should not be knowledge only for those who are well educated, it is everyone's knowledge," Éomer said. "I se no point in hiding secrets beautiful as you …"

Legolas gave a small laugh. "Flatterer," he teased.

Aragorn congratulated them, like he had done in Minas Tirith after first finding out, but this time in Rohirric. The hobbits behind him looked confused, with the exception for Frodo who could understand the general idea of Éomer's speech even if he did not know a word of the tongue of Rohan. After all, Legolas' name had been mentioned twice. Arwen had already mounted, as had some of the guards from Gondor and Rohan who could come with them. However, Lifae did not. Leading Arod with a hand on the horse's back he came to the prince's side.

"Let me help you mount, prince," Lifae said, gesturing at Arod, who stomped impatiently.

Reluctantly Legolas let go of his lover's hand and let Lifae help him up. "I am no child no longer, nor am I so old I cannot ride by myself. Do you think me both old, weak and exhausted?" he muttered to his guard, using elvish.

"Ah yes, you are no child no longer," Lifae teased, "but, my prince, you could start training your adult manners, or at least use them now and then."

Soon the whole company was on horseback. People gathered at the streets and in the doorways, other peeking out from the windows, to say goodbye and watch them leave. Lastly to mount was Éomer, who did so after a short farewell from Erkenbrand. Said man stood beside the large horses and Legolas could see his lemon chrome hair had been cut shorter and straighter, and now his clothing was more formal than yesterday.

"Have a good journey, my Lords, my Lady," Erkenbrand said, the last words appointed the Arwen.

The city gates opened; Aragorn and Arwen turned their steeds and left for the road and the open plains. Gandalf and Shadowfaxe looked comparably large beside the small hobbits where they rode upon their ponies, leaving the city. Lastly, Legolas, with nothing but a soft word in Arod's ear and using no reins to guide him, turned and followed with Éomer by his side in an instant. Following the group was an escort and a wagon containing Théoden's body.

Finally they were on their way, and Legolas felt a little relief to know that in Edoras, there were no cold stone rooms to rest in. He might even very soon rest with Éomer …

They rode towards Edoras for several hours, horses and riders both well fed and rested. If they continued at this pace they would reach the capital city within midday the next day. The knowledge that it was not further than that away spurred them on and the horses seemed happier and livelier, as if they knew their home and stalls were near. Or maybe they just recognized these vast plains, Legolas mused. The grassy hills were green as emerald. The colour warmed Legolas' heart and reminded him also of Mirkwood, the soft moss and thick tall trees full of green and brown leaves flickering in the wind.

They cut off from the road to have a shorter, straighter route; it was easier that way. The main road curved to lead to a few small villages and towns, both in the south and the north, but they did not need to visit these. Éomer and the other Rohirric riders knew these lands and green plains like the back of their hand. By some slops of grass rested formations of rocks; but otherwise nothing broke the grass pattern. There were no trees, and just a handful of bushes sometimes.

Fangorn was a thin dark line in the distance.

Casting a glance on the ground before them, Legolas could see the old traces of horses that had ridden here before, like a path leading over the lands. Mayhap this was the route that Rohirric riders and messenger used when in a hurry, or in war.

Soon Aldburg disappeared among the hills, a tiny dot by the foot of the mountains. Looking back, none of the elves could longer spot Firien beyond the city. But ahead, the line of Fangorn became slightly more visible for their elven eyes.

The road was faster now. The hobbits, after some time of boredom, decided to race some way ahead; something to break the otherwise steady, trudging rhythm. Laughing Legolas watched four ponies rush past the larger horses; one of the hobbits, one of the younger ones he thought, gave a cry and called out his cousin's name, telling him to hurry up. The Men were smiling and chuckling amongst themselves as well; the whole company's spirit rose. Éomer was laughing, and leaned over and squeezed Legolas' hand.

"We must do that someday, you and I," the man said. "Rush over the plains, the wind in upon our faces, whipping out hair …"

Legolas chuckled. "I am afraid I dare not for that just yet. My little one might not agree," he answered.

He let his gaze travel; by now the hobbits were some five hundred feet away, starting to slow down from the short race. One of their ponies' neighing was carried across the hills. The next moment, said pony turned swiftly and shook her rider off in the momentum. A hobbit, who Legolas could not recognize, tumbled to the ground. There was a cry of voices in both worry in laughter.

Éomer spotted the accident as well, though not in the same detail as Legolas; he nudged his horse forward and galloped to where the hobbits had now dismounted and gathered around one of their own.

"Is anyone hurt?" Éomer wondered.

"Nah, 'm all right," Merry said, while being helped to his feet. "Just a bit sore."

"And clumsy," Pippin put in.

"Not at all! It was Snowmane's fault. She got too carried away." Merry sent the mare a glare, which she answered with a look that almost said 'you asked for it'.

Éomer was relieved. "I am glad no worse harm was done," he said. "We could as well stop to eat and rest for a while."

Merry's face lightened up at the mention of food. Pippin walked around him and patted Snowmane's head. "You're not that bad, you know," he told her. "It's just his fault. Don't listen to him."

"Pippin!" Merry gasped, looking aghast. "What are you doing, turning my pony against me! Have you any idea what might happen now? Next time she'll throw me off and we'll have to share, me with a broken arm or leg." He turned to the mare. "Don't you even try, dearie. And don't listen to _him_." He nudged Pippin's leg with his foot.

While the hobbits recovered themselves, the rest of the riders drew near, and Éomer signed to his men to stop, telling them to give themselves and their horses a rest. Legolas slid off Arod's back next to Éomer. "No one is harmed, I hope," he said.

"Everyone is fine. Young master Meriadoc may only be a bit bruised and sore for a time, though," Éomer answered.

Aragorn, who had heard him, dismounted and nodded, able to look very serious, holding back a smile from his face. "I will have a look at him," he promised.

The Men tied their horses with room enough for them to eat of the grass, while the elves let their horses go free; the creatures were always alert to hear their masters' call and come back, they knew that. Food was prepared and while the horses were given their share of water, Aragorn examined Merry. The fall had as expected given him a bit bruised, swollen side but he had landed softly enough for no further damage. No broken bones or cracked fingers. Aragorn was relieved. Merry and Pippin had soon fallen into conversation again; Pippin still was convinced that the falling accident was Merry's fault and not the pony's.

They ate some dried meat and bread warmed over the fire, making it almost taste like newly baked; the hobbits longingly daydreamed and retold of the food they had eaten in Aldburg and Minas Tirith and a certain pair of hobbits loudly voiced their wishes of as good food and drink once within Edoras' walls. Preferably a hot meal with mushrooms involved. Their straightforward wishes made Lifae send a curious look at Legolas, but he could not explain their behaviour. Did hobbits only sleep and eat? How was it possible for them to manage doing something in between? Lifae was intrigued.

When they were on the road again Merry had been the last to mount, eyeing warily his mare. "Now don't get to carried away, do you," he warned her. "Or I'll have to buy another pony to replace you; you don't want that, right?"

She only snorted in reply.

--

They rode past midday and into the evening. The sun was sinking when they made camp, the sky painted n blue and red streaks.

After helping with unsaddling and feeding the horses, Legolas sought out some company; Éomer was speaking to one of his riders in Rohirric. For a while he wandered across one edge of camp to the other. Here it was not blowing as much as it had before. At some hills, the wind was constantly trying to rip them off the ground. He found Gandalf seated on a rock some part away from the encampment, blowing rings of smoke from his mouth. Legolas regarded him for a moment, and the wizard gave no indication that he knew of his presence. In the end, Legolas decided to speak.

"I will never understand that, Mithrandir," he said and moved to sit down beside the old maia.

"Hm?" Gandalf hummed, giving him a curious glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"Using those leafs and the pipe … smoking. That is a strange habit that so many seems to posses, unnecessarily so," Legolas said. "Was it you perhaps that inspired Estel to do that vile thing?"

Gandalf smiled and knocked on the pipe. "Ah, this is just a pleasure that the elves are unable to enjoy, or at least unwilling to," answered the wizard and puffed a little smoke – in midair it transformed from a grey cloud to a perfectly round sphere changing colours, from blue to yellow to green. Fascinated, Legolas followed it wish his gaze as Gandalf continued; "As for Aragorn, it has nothing to do with me. Except perhaps for that one time I gave him a little tour around Bree. Apparently you have never been to Bree, my prince – a very good place, I must say; easy to go unseen and have a drink at the Prancing Pony and think. They do have very good ale, to set your mind in motion."

"I believe I am rather grateful for never being to such a place," Legolas said, unable to hide his smile. He watched the sphere of smoke unfold and fade with the wind.

"Now I advice you to go and rest," Gandalf said after a while of silence, nodding towards the darkening horizon. "We want to be well rested once we reach Edoras, do we not? It reached my ears that your betrothed is planning a grand fete to your honour, and wish to bestow the greatest gifts imaginable upon you, so be ready for anything, my lad."

Legolas' smile broadened and he shook his head. "Where do you hear these things, Mithrandir?" he wondered with a curious look at the wizard.

"Oh, I have my sources," was Gandalf's mysterious reply.

Legolas sighed and hid a chuckle. He could not coax a word from the wizard, and he rather not try; he did not wish to anger him and he knew not much of how Gandalf could react if he asked too much. People thought he knew the wizard, but he realized that no one could know a wizard; the exception was perhaps other wizards and the Valar. Even if he was an elf, he did not know Mithrandir so well as Aragorn's did. After all, it had been a very long time before the Fellowship's quest that he had met the wizard or been outside Mirkwood's boarders. Aragorn on the other hand must have travelled in his earlier days with the wizard across the world.

He stood up, slowly, stretching his legs. A dull aching had started to set in his muscles. "Good night, Mithrandir." He had a feeling the wizard would sit here whole night, thinking and smoking.

"Sleep well, my lad."

Legolas retired to his tent. Inside, Lifae was sitting on his own bedroll, legs folded, in the light of an old old-lamp they had taken with them from Gondor, and the elf was writing … something.

"Lifae, what are you writing?" Legolas asked as he crawled into the blankets on his bedroll.

"A letter, to Mirkwood," Lifae replied before he looked up. "For a friend."

"Mmm…" Legolas nodded, deciding not to ask more and not try to peek into the letter. It was private after all … But he felt like Lifae was hiding something, if not lying. "I hope," he dared to ask, "that you do not mean you are reporting to my father of something awful I have done."

"Unless you give me a reason to, I will not," Lifae said and then fixed him with a hard look, raising an eyebrow. "_Have_ you done something lately I do not know of, my prince?"

Legolas looked up at him. "Of course not!" he said, adding in a soft teasing tone; "Unless I am given a reason to."

Lifae laughed but shortly thereafter hushed his voice so he did not wake anyone in another tent nearby. Then he returned to his writing again, and from this angle Legolas could not see the parchment's upper side, so he could only guess what it contained. The light from the oil-lamp created a large shadow behind the sitting elf, making him look twice as large from the outside; the thought struck Legolas as almost amusing. The only sounds was from the quill being dipped into the ink, and the soft scratching of it upon the parchment. Outside it was eerie quiet, the camp still; but when he listened, he heard how the wind sang.

Slowly Legolas was lulled to sleep, without knowing that the letter had nothing to do with Mirkwood, and was in fact to be delivered to a guard in Ithilien that had once belonged to the citadel of Minas Tirith. Legolas had no idea.

--

Two miles away, a man lay on the hard ground next to a dozen others, wrapped in an old cloak. They shivered in their sleep; they were tired, uneasy, hungry and thirsty. The journey took its tool hard on them and many silently thought this waiting instead of acting was an utter waste of time and energy. The plan send by their master had not been fully unfolded for them yet, they did not know why this wait was on. They rested now in dreamless lands, having a small opportunity to return some of their strength and will. But for not much longer would they be asleep.

One was already awake, crouching on the hill staring towards the distance – at the flickering light of a fire among the hills. Cold eyes gleamed. They were close now, very close. Edoras was a day away, as was their quarrel, their goal. It was time to do something else than just watch.

But before they could start acting they needed to contact the Master, report to him, and be given guidance. How could they get rid of Stormcrow? Oh, the Lathspéll. How he hated him, everything with him. The men were troubled by the damned wizard to no end but he, the Captain as he was, was feeling more hatred towards him than he felt even against the Master, in his pitiful state.

_Even if the two were so strangely, damned alike …_

His musings ended when there was a gruff noise behind him; a groan, a softly spoken word, someone asking for a piece of bread, another pulling out and carefully controlling the sharpness of his knife.

The Captain turned his head towards them and they cringed under his cold eyes. "Be quiet!" he hissed.

Stillness fell over the cold dark camp like a thick, uncomfortable blanket, sticking to their skin. They shared and ate the leftover old bread and water taken from the river on the way here. Anyone but one ate. The men thought that the Captain lived on poison and pale ghosts alone.

He as Captain would stay outside and wait, by the Walls of Edoras, and kill the guards patrolling by it. H was the only one competent enough among these rats, he knew that, and he used it. The Captain gestured a man to come over to him.

"Select fastest sprinter among the men. This," he held up a folded parchment between his thumb and index finger, "must be delivered to the Master very soon. It is a hurried matter. Hours, a day, it may take; no longer."

The man accepted the parchment like it was spun of glass, a wonder which those rough, sword-made large hands. "Yes, my Captain."

Mere minutes later, one of the men was running across the pains back to where they had come from, running like Morgoth himself was on the chase after him. They all knew the importance of hurry.

--

When they passed through the gates of Edoras it was midday, and the city bathed in warm sunlight. The people here had expected them for hours and at once, people set about to prepare a welcoming dinner. The hobbits practically lit up, as always, and Pippin could not wait for food, so instead starting eating one of his apples.

Before going inside to eat, Éomer did like in Aldburg an announcement, but here, one or another already appeared to have heard of their engagement. Perhaps the messenger that had been sent from Minas Tirith had told them, Legolas thought. He was yet again glad to openly being able to walk beside Éomer and hold his hand. The two were seated for dinner next to each other, near the throne – which was empty some way from the table – on the places of honour.

Others were there, apart from the company they had travelled with, and Legolas took time to inspect them. He could not recognize either one of the men or women, but all were blonde with light eyes, dressed in similar fashions. If he had met or seen any of them before, the first time he had been in Edoras, he could not recall them. He could not help but wonder if there was any healer among them – maybe even one of the healers that knew of his condition. What if it was? Maybe he could ask Éomer later of whom they were.

As it were, no one else seemed to be bothered of the newcomers. The hobbits were first curious, asked a few questions while eating; Aragorn began a conversation almost at once. Lifae had seated himself securely between Legolas and Arwen, this way keeping an eye on the prince while having a conversation with the elven Queen.

"Let's toast!" Merry suggested some time into dinner, and filled his cup of mead.

"I agree on that," Sam said and Frodo allowed him to fill the remaining three hobbits' cups.

Gandalf, by the hobbits' side, smiled. "Aye. For Rohan!"

"For Rohan!" echoed the hall.

Legolas refrained from both ale and mead, contenting himself with other drinks available, such as milk. The table in front of them held so much drinks and food he knew he would not be able to eat much and hold it down, and the many, strong scents almost tortured his nostrils. Oh, why did he had to be this sensitive and at the same time paying his mind to everything?

"For the King!" one of the strangers by the table said proudly, raising his cup.

"And his fiancé!" answered another, smiling wide. Legolas could only murmur with them that, feeling every gaze on him for a moment, and fought not to blush. He smiled in return. Éomer grasped his hand for a moment before letting go.

Dinner resumed. In time, Legolas found out a handful of names of the strangers; some were from other villages, one from Aldburg, and everyone had more contacts than just as farmers. They had some sort of higher ranks or positions, Legolas guessed, either as warriors or within the court, but more he could not find out. There were two women there; one of them more talkative than the other, but not at all with the fierce determination and strength that Éowyn possessed. Legolas saw that immediately. The men's characters were harder to put his finger on. They did not have the same open eyes and voices, and avoided eye contact with him; not to offend but because they were nervous about elves. Did they think every elf was like Lady Galadriel and possessed mind-reading?

When dinner ended, over two hours had passed, and they had gone through both main course and dessert. Legolas felt full and tired, and regretted he had even tried that last piece of pudding. He felt a bit sick.

Gandalf took his staff and his pipe, heading outside to smoke in the open. Following Aragorn with his gaze, Legolas was surprised when the man shrugged then accompanied his wife instead to their chambers. Legolas had expected him to smoke as well. Maybe he tried to refrain from the vile habit Legolas would be glad if he did. The hobbits told the wizard they'd soon join him, after refreshing themselves a little.

Legolas found he would have a chamber with Lifae, the same he had once shared with Gimli. He suspected strongly why the elven guard would share his room, and it had more to do with Éomer than anything else.

There were baths prepared for the guests and Legolas sighed when Éomer left him and Lifae in their chamber. Last out through the door before it was closed was a silent footed maid, leaving a few towels only as a trace of her. For some moments, Legolas stood watching the door longingly, slightly dizzy as well. Lifae put a hand on his shoulder.

"Princeling, are you well?"

In answer, Legolas dashed for the privy, leaned over and wasted dinner's content in it. The elven guard patiently and reassuringly patted circles on his back, with the other hand holding the prince's hair out of the way. After a few minutes, Legolas felt slightly better and stood, trembling.

"Better now?" Lifae asked.

Legolas nodded. "Had too much pudding," he muttered, a bit hoarsely.

"You should bathe some," Lifae suggested, or rather, ordered. "Here, let me help find you some other clothing. Let us say you look a bit dusty right now. Would you like a drink first?"

"No, I can do that myself," Legolas tried to protest, just while Lifae led him over to the metal tub. The guard chose not to listen to him. Legolas sighed. "Could I have some water, please?"

While fetching clothing in the wardrobe, Lifae also asked the man that paced in the corridor for a glass of water and some soaps. He had found none in the bathroom.

Their packs had been opened and their clothing put in the wardrobe – most of it was Legolas' – and their other possessions laid on a low table set squarely between two chairs in the corner. The elf picked up the comb laying there; it was Legolas' old one, a small which he had used mostly as a child. It must have lain at the bottom of the prince's pack, for Lifae had not seen it for years, actually. Musing over how it came to be here, Lifae took it with him into the bathroom.

Legolas sat sunken in the warm water of the bathtub, the only thing between his skin and the metal a white bathing sheet. Usually he could not have minded if there was only iron, but not he was glad for this idea of Mankind to use sheets. He could feel some of the cold metal through.

He barely looked up at the door was opened, letting inside a soft push of wind. Lifae set the new clothing in a folded pile next to the towels. On top it he laid the comb. "Here," he said, very softly. "I have asked for some water and also soaps."

"Thank you," Legolas murmured sleepily.

Lifae smiled. "Fall not asleep just yet. I believe that King Éomer would like a word with you, if you can recall the conversation at dinner. He will meet you in the hall."

"Hm." Legolas yawned, trying to get some energy back into his muscles. The mention of Éomer mostly brought more energy to his mind and his heart. It was so long ago since he could have a private conversation with Éomer, and with Lifae around, it would be nigh impossible until they married. Until they married … He wondered when that would be. How many weeks after the birth of his child had they patience to wait? He knew it could not be too soon, it was unfitting, but yet he wanted it very soon.

He lay there lost in thought and did not notice Lifae slip in and out from the room, until there was a gentle tap on his shoulder. "Princeling, wake from your dreaming. Here," a glass was put in his hands. Legolas drank the water slowly; it was cool in his throat and replaced the bitter tinge on his tongue with a fresh taste. He reached over and put the glass in the floor, and took a flask of soap instead. He knew not what sort of things Mankind actually used for soap here, but it smelled softly, if anything at all, and had a flowing consistency.

For once he gave in without retort or protests, letting Lifae wash through his hair, and gently massage his scalp. It was long ago since he had been taken care of this way, and it felt good and relaxing.

"Do not fall asleep," came Lifae's voice somewhere behind him.

"'m not sleeping," Legolas said, stretching his eyes. "I … just rested a little."

"You shall neither sleep or rest in at least an hour. Think of King Éomer," Lifae reminded him in a slightly warning voice. The threat was enough and Legolas sat up a little straighter.

"Then do not massage my head like that, it makes me sleepy, Lifae," he said. "I'd hate to blame for you making me sleep like this …"

Lifae gave an uncharacteristic snort, and Legolas had a sudden urge to fall into a laughing fit. Biting his tongue, he reduced it into a grin and muffled chuckles. Using a basing and filling it with water, Lifae washed away all soap from Legolas' hair and his hands lost contact from the prince's head after that.

"Come now, prince, dress," he said to him, when Legolas still did not move from the tub and just sat there sighing contently. Lifae shook his head with a sigh, and coming to his feet he dried his hands with a towel. Then he held up a larger one for the prince. Who still had not moved.

"Prince Legolas. You are not feeling ill are you?"

"No, no … I am coming, Lifae, just a moment …"

Lifae chuckled. "Come now, Prince Legolas. Otherwise I must include this in my report to your father, in the list of inappropriate behaviours."

Legolas started at that, standing up so quickly that water splashed over the edges and onto the floor. "You make a list to my father?" he asked, eyeing Lifae widely. "Inappropriate behaviour? Please, Lifae, tell me you are joking."

Lifae's grin grew wide. "I only jest, my prince. But it did use to rouse you. I shall remind that," he added.

When Legolas wrapped himself in a towel and started drying himself, Lifae pulled a comb through the prince's hair, carefully untying tangles, barely so that Legolas noticed that there had been any at all. It had been almost a year since Lifae had last helped him like this, but it was nothing new with it and this was one of the moments when Legolas fell full comfortable and secure. Lifae was like a brother right now. Or a mother._ 'But I should not say that to him_,' he thought.

"What hour is it?" he wondered a bit absently.

"By the time you began to bathe, I believe it was the fifth hour before sundown, this time a year," Lifae informed him. "Though judging the time you rested, there might now only be four hours left. Four and a half, are we lucky."

Legolas nodded, not saying anything about his resting, which made Lifae raise an eyebrow. The elven prince must be indeed tired. Maybe he had not even pay any heed of what had been said.

Legolas gingerly picked up the old, not very sharp mirror that lay on a shelf next to the empty basin. Studying himself in it, he could not see much detail, but he saw his eyes, the colour blurred.

By dinner they had discussed Théoden, and also toasted to his memory; tomorrow the funeral would be held. Lifae had reminded him several times during the journey to make sure he had some clean fitting clothing for the occasion. Legolas had never before attended a funeral of Men, nor had any other elf he knew, so he did not know what was expected of him. Would they expect he would say anything, since the man was Éomer's uncle and he was Éomer's husband-to-be?

After drying his body and his now untangled hair, Lifae helped the prince dress in simple light green colours, and then also braid his hair. After some ten minutes, the elf was pleased. "That will do, I believe," he said. "Let us go now, to find King Éomer."

Legolas hesitated by the door, then folded his old clothing and the towels in a two piles on the floor, by the wall, and took his comb back to the room where Lifae had found it. He did not want to create a full mess behind himself, even if he knew that servants would clean up and empty the bath afterwards.

With Lifae on his heels, he found Éomer in the hall, in conversation with one of the men that had attended dinner. Now, Éomer was looking fresher and bathed, his hair was held back by a tie and he had changed to clean clothing. The only thing from his earlier outfit was his belt and his boots. None of the men noticed the elves approaching, or the slightly raised murmur in the hall among the other people there, until Legolas paused only some five feet away. Waiting until either one of them had quieted, not to interrupt, the elf spoke firmly but softly.

"Good evening."

Evening was the only fitting word at the moment, even thought was yet hours until sundown, which was around midnight now in the summer. Legolas refrained from giving titles, both because he did not know of the other man's rank and that he did not think that Éomer would like him to call him King.

The men's gaze lifted and Éomer's face grew into a smile. "Good eve, Legolas," he greeted, and Legolas came closer to his side. "Please let me introduce Prince Legolas of the woodland realm. This is my friend Balding, son of Aldwine."

Balding was a broad man with deep, sombre features and his blonde hair had started to grow grey. His solemn expression wore off a little when he smiled and bowed to him. "It is a pleasure to meet the fiancé of my King, and a prince this fair nonetheless," he said. "What woodland realm are we speaking of?" he wondered.

Legolas assumed to himself that Balding would soon, one day or another, ask how come he was so large around the belly. It was simply not an elven trait to be so. He grew uncomfortable at the thought of answering. How would this man react? "My father is King Thranduil of the Greenwood," he said. "You may know of it as Mirkwood."

"Ah." The man nodded. There was not much known of Mirkwood, much less than other elven realms. While older legendary elven resistances, such as Doriath, was treated like old wives' stories, and Rivendell and Lothlórien spoken of as realms of Elven Magic, Mirkwood gave a more dark feeling about it. It was not as magical as the other realms, its leaders' names rarely spoken. "I would be delighted to hear more of the Greenwood, for there is not much information you can come across these days concerning the lands, and never I'd imagine to come across a live elf in my days …" His smile did not falter from his lips. "Ah, but why do I tarry you? I shall leave you for your privacy, my lords. I bid you a good evening."

"Good eve, Balding," Éomer said after the man.

Legolas found his mind filled with questions, again, and wondered which one to voice. He felt an arm sneak around his waist. It must attracted a few looks, Legolas was sure.

"It is good to see you again," Éomer murmured. "And must always your guard, Lifae, stand peeking over our shoulders?"

Legolas smiled. "As I have explained before, it is his nature. One must have something truly important, dangerous and interesting nearby to lure him away …"

The man's grip around him tightened. "Though that is not what I came to speak about. I was wondering about the wedding. All of my friends and everyone I know here are very intent upon knowing exactly everything about us; we do not even have a date set for the ceremony."

Legolas felt like a child with butterflies tickling his insides, all of sudden; he grinned sheepishly. "I hope we do not wait for too long," he chuckled, then grew slightly more serious. "Would it be best if we told of my child now, to stop people from wondering?" he asked, while both took seat by a table. Lifae stood by a pillar behind them, watching their every move like a worried sibling.

"I do not know," Éomer murmured.

"But they will realize it is not our child," Legolas said, "that you are not the father, at least not in blood. Éomer, I attract stares. But I know not how your people would react over this. Elves … differs and may not all be as … rushed in decisions as others when they do not agree."

Well, there were exceptions, but it was best not to include them now.

Éomer nodded. "You want them to know?"

"I feel no shame in it," Legolas said. "Much of this is also the past," he added in a lower voice, "and past cannot be changed. There is no regret of what I have done nor of my child. Once he or she is born, and grows older, I will tell him or her of the father."

Understanding, the man nodded. "Then we shall tell at least the court as soon as possible. We must also be ready … for the birth." It was clear that the men was worried about it, of Legolas giving birth; there could always be dangers with childbirth.

Legolas smiled. Soon he would hold his child in his arms. It warmed his heart to think so. "Aye."

For a few moments they sat in silence, holding each other, and Legolas smiled and rested against the man's shoulder. Éomer suddenly kissed his temple.

"You are beautiful, Legolas."

Smiling, Legolas kissed his cheek, which was the nearest a kiss he dared to come without Lifae pulling them apart. He felt in the back of his mind that Lifae was worried about him and still did not like the idea of him being taken care by a lover, and therefore being out of his eyesight for more than an hour. He decided that Lifae needed also a lover, may it take a hundred years, but Legolas would make sure Lifae had one, one day. There would be a point in his life when he would no longer need Lifae's protection – but the thought saddened Legolas a little.

He was not aware of how long they sat there, when he breathed Éomer's scent and they spoke softly. He was slowly growing tired, though, and a bit unfocused; when they parted – with a more daring kiss, at which Lifae stared – Legolas looked outside and realize that more than an hour had passed.

"I think I will retire, Lifae," he said.

"I will follow you," Lifae said, unnecessarily.

Since they lastly had been there, someone had come to their chamber and refilled the candles and closed the curtains of the window, and the bathroom had also been cleaned, the tub emptied and moved into a corner.

While Legolas undid his braids and undressed to sleep, Lifae searched the wardrobe and found clothing for the funeral tomorrow morning for them both. Lifae had only some darker green clothing, but Legolas had been given almost black long clothing, and also a long grey cloak. Legolas gave the clothing a strange look. He did not recognize the cloak at all.

"Where does the cloak come from?" he asked.

Lifae closed the wardrobe, laying one pile of clothing each on the chairs. "I am not sure, my prince, but I believe your father gave it to you before he left."

When Legolas crept under the blankets and fell into sleep, he thought about his father, and wondered what he was doing right now.

After making sure the prince was asleep, Lifae pulled out a parchment he had hidden within one of his tunics, took out some ink and a feather pen and continued on the letter he had begun days ago. The scratching pulled back Legolas' mind and he blinked at the light that still remained in the room.

"Lifae?"

The elf on the other bed paused his writing. "I am only writing, princeling, the letter to Mirkwood. Go back to sleep."

Legolas did as bid without protests, but Lifae felt still a tinge of guilt of lying for a second time to the prince about the same thing. Despite to his own mind's warnings, Lifae ha taken up contact with Beregond, the man from Minas Tirith, and had begun a letter, friends and warriors between. He would like to know a man for he knew little of their kind, their ways an their judgement, and he was sure that Beregond knew not much of elves.

After finally finishing the letter, Lifae signed the day's date in the upper corner and laid the ink to dry. How to send the letter was another day's matter. Maybe there was a chance that he could sent it with one of the Gondorians when they headed for home with Queen Arwen and King Aragorn, he thought as he packed away the pen and ink, and blew out the candlelight. Across the room, Legolas was sound asleep.

--

The whole city was quiet. Never before had he seen all of Edoras' population, but now they all were gathered on each side of the road leading from the gate to the Golden Hall. Men, women and children clad in gray and black copes. From someone there was a soft, broken sob. This was the first time he had attended a ceremony such as this, and he saw in people's faces that their sorrow from the loss of King Théoden had been pushed away and now taken forward again.

The morning sky was melting into grey. Maybe the Valar knew what was taking place this day and hid the sun from their eyes.

The body of Théoden was lifted by four men in front of them; Éomer walked just behind, Legolas by his side. Slowly the procession crawled through Edoras and outside the gates. The hobbits trailed behind the couple and lastly went Aragorn, Arwen and Gandalf. People made way for them to pass and no one looked another in the eyes. Most people looked at the ground or at the sky.

Legolas glanced at Éomer; the man's face was set like a stone façade. He knew not much of Théoden or his relationship with Éomer, but he knew that Éomer had been raised by him like a son. Théoden must have been dear to him. The elf did not expect Éomer to cry or show much outward grief, not just yet; he was like Aragorn that way, to keep a straight face as long as he could hold it. Legolas wanted to reassure him, take Éomer's hand, but held back from doing so. What could he say?

Still no one had spoken. When they reached a newly created burial mound, a voice rose to the air in song, and Legolas recognized only a handful of the words. They were of battles and kingship and glory; a tribute to the fallen king. He lowered his gaze in respect.

The song did not stop until Théoden's body had been placed inside the mound, and after Éomer had held a short speech that reflected the sorrow they felt by the loss of Théoden and the man's great honour, the ceremony ended. Legolas was slightly surprised of its length; but still relieved. He did not want to linger in a place so fresh of death.

When they made their way back to the Golden Hall, some glanced back at the mound one last time, but Legolas did not look back. It made him think of death and sorrow and the memory of Egil came suddenly fresh into his mind – he knew so little of his fallen lover, and had not been at the burial ceremony in Mirkwood, and did not even know where his body was kept. The thought made him dizzy for a moment. He had not said a last goodbye.

"Legolas?" murmured Éomer, worried, laying a hand on his arm. "Are you all right?"

The elf nodded, absently, and met Éomer's gaze fleetingly. "Yes … I am all right."

Éomer looked at him doubtfully. He kept his hand in place as they walked up the stairs and into the Hall. People were already there, some preparing drinks for them to toast at Théoden's memory. "You do not look so well, my love. Sit down a while," Éomer suggested. "I will get you some water."

The elf managed a small smile. "No, I am all right, it's not needed …"

But Éomer did not listen and led him to a bench, and quickly fetched him a cup of water. He placed it in the elf's hands. Legolas' gaze traveled over the room. "Here, drink, it is water," Éomer said.

The elf gave in and took a few sips. The cold drink soothed his mind some and he did not feel so dizzy anymore. He continued to look at the hall; there were people moving about, albeit slowly now, as if walking faster would be a disgrace. Most faces were blank and no one laughed. He caught Lifae's eyes, where the elf stood by a pillar looking slightly lost.

"Better now?"

He looked from Lifae to the man sitting next to him. He forced the smile back to his lips. "Yes. Thank you."

The corners of Éomer's lips tugged slightly and he took the empty offered cup from the elf's hands, studying Legolas' face. The elf did not meet his gaze. "Legolas, what is it? Is something wrong?"

Legolas shifted where he sat. "I … just had a memory. That is all," he whispered.

--

Three days had passed since the funeral ceremony, when Legolas was interrupted by a knock on the door. Lifae had decided it was fitting for him to start again the scholar lessons which he had had when he was younger. It concerned politics and ruling, but also Lifae was learning them both, by the help of Éomer's friend Gamling, to speak and read Rohirric. It was both fitting and needed, since Legolas was going to live with these people and Lifae refused to leave the prince on his own among Men. Even when Éomer was there. _Especially _with Éomer.

Legolas was a quite fast learner, even if he was not so very young anymore. It had been easier to maintain curiosity as a child and he knew he would not be perfect and fluent in Rohirric for many years. He had already decided that his child, once growing up and older, would learn to speak both Westron, Sindarin and Rohirric. Even if there may not be anyone to speak Sindarin with except himself and Lifae, he could not let his child grow up without knowing his or her parents' tongue. Legolas did not want the elven language to fade.

He also did this, reading and writing and having long discussions about often pure nonsense, to forget about the funeral. It had hurt him as well, and brought him a look at death, and made him remember things he should not have. It made him uncomfortable.

He was using Rohan's runes to repeatedly write his and other's names when the door opened to reveal a servant of the house.

"Yes?" Legolas asked, putting away the feathered pen. Rain slashed against the window in the room and the room was only lit up by some candles. Across the table sat Lifae, struggling to use Mankind's runes instead of elvish writing. With a glance at him, Legolas could tell that over the past three days, he had made an improvement.

"My lord, you have a visitor."

Lifae and Gamling let him go but he let the parchment lay on the table untouched. Maybe later he could continue the lesson. The servant led him to the hall, almost as if the elf knew not the way himself, and there by the door stood three dripping wet, tired figures, short and broad.

"Gimli!" Legolas cried in delight at the sight of his friend, no matter how disheveled and drowned by the rain the dwarf was. "You are early," he added in afterthought.

The dwarf just laughed, patting his arm. "Like you said to have it, lad; I came in a hurry, as soon as I could!" He removed his cloak, and his clothing beneath was at a slightly dryer state.

"What about those caves of yours that you seem to enjoy so much?" Legolas asked. It was about then he took notice to the two short, cloaked figures next to Gimli, standing with his built and height both. Dwarves from Erebor or the Glittering Caves? He had expected Gimli to come alone, that no dwarves were too excited to come to a city of Men, and three elves.

"They can manage a day or two without me," Gimli said. "Besides, I have proper company with me this time; now I went on a journey with the knowledge of the elves that would be present. Just to prevent being influenced by you flighty creatures too much. Let me introduce, my dear friend, the sons of Baribun, my companions for this time. Friends, this is Prince Legolas of the Greenwood." The two strange dwarves removed their hoods and cloaks, beneath which they wore helmets and armour though not as adorned as Gimli's, and small axes hung by their belts.

Legolas was pleased of the introduction, that his father's name was not mentioned, a little surprised of the dwarf's use of the name Greenwood – instead of Mirkwood. But the dwarves would at once connect his status, name and homeland with Thranduil. Mostly, he was honoured that Gimli dared call him a dear friend. An elf and a dwarf!

"A pleasure to meet you, highness," the slightly taller dwarf, with gray plaited beard and hair, said and gave a small bow. The one by his other side did the same, murmuring something under his breath. "I am called Rani, and this is Gahrn, my brother, at your service."

The answer Legolas gave them was automatically; Gimli had long before spoken of his people and the value of honour and proper greetings. "And me at your and your family's," he replied. The dwarves beamed. It tugged at the corners of the elf's lips. The elf led them from the hall to the rooms that had stood prepared waiting for guests to arrive.

"The feast is not 'til two days," Legolas informed them as they walked. "So there was no need to hurry." Opening the first door, he stepped aside to give the dwarves a view. "We were not expecting three of you, so I am afraid the two of you have to share this, sons of Baribun," Legolas continued, casting a glance at said dwarves.

"We do not mind," the one called Gahrn said.

"It will do well," his brother agreed. "We are thankful for the hospitality."

Then the pair went to inspect their chambers and they spoke only with each other, and sometimes Gimli, in low voices using dwarvish. The words that Legolas could catch, could he not understand. So he left in company of his friend to show Gimli's chamber. It was as large as the other one, as well the wooden walls and pillars adorned with carvings of horses adorned with gold. In the centre of the room was a bed, and by the wall next to a smaller table was a chair. Opposite to it was a bookshelf, though Legolas doubted Gimli would spend his time reading Rohirric folklore. A candle lay resting on the table, waiting to be placed in a candle stand and lit.

"How is it with Aglarond?" Legolas wondered.

Gimli stood by the pillar next to the door, inspecting the carvings in the wood. "It's well, very well in fact. I have a dozen or more dwarves from my former home with me. Thanks to King Éomer are out supplies always well filled. Then and now when we are need of help, the horse-people are willing to help. There are a few caves, with high ceiling and those amazing glimmering stones, jewels in the walls, discovered recently, behind piles of rubble hiding the entrances. Half of them are a bit unstable and we have started a project stabilizing them. Many are of perfect size to build homes within – what a dream to live among such wonders, quarts and diamonds over your head, pure gold laid out before you … Lad, you must come soon visit me, see all this beauty!"

His eyes had caught a dreamy look again. Legolas realized just how much those caves meant for Gimli and other dwarves. It was their version of the beauty of Lothlórien – as much as elves admired those woods, just as much did a dwarf admire Aglarond.

"I will, Gimli, be sure," Legolas said, leaning against the doorframe. "I have not forgotten out promise yet. I will not be able to travel for a time, though …" More or less unconsciously he put his arms around his grown belly. He wondered if the two dwarves, Rani and Gahrn, knew of his condition – had Gimli told them? Surely they must wonder why he was so … big.

His friend's finger followed one of the patterns on the pillar as he spoke, unaware of the elf's thoughts. "Hm, good handiwork this, even though these people are more for horses than anything else. How fares Éomer? And the others? I have not met them yet." Tearing himself from the work or art, he moved to unpack instead. He had not much in the small pack he had brought – some clothing and water flasks and empty leather sacks where to put food for a journey.

Legolas decided to help him while he spoke, opening the wardrobe and putting in Gimli's clothing. Everything seemed strangely short.

"Good, I know for the first and I believe for the second," he answered Gimli's question. "Edoras has been quite full of traders lately, surely a request from either Aragorn or Éomer … Bringing wine and food and clothing …" Legolas smiled a little. "Everyone seems busy now when there is a feast to come. Obviously Éomer wants only grandeur. He his very excited about all this and I am not sure what I can do 'til the feast."

Gimli chuckled and winked. "Of course, it is to celebrate his coronation and his betrothal, am I right?"

"Aye," Legolas nodded with a smile, shutting the wardrobe and turning to the dwarf. Gimli had removed his cloak and that thick tunic that looked quite heavy, and put away his axes. "Dear dwarf, have you traveled across Rohan, dressed in chain mail? Did you not learn from our last trek together across these lands that armour and running or walking does not quite fit?"

"Ah daft elf, one cannot be to secure," Gimli retorted. "Who knows, maybe one or two stray orcs would cross out path."

Legolas raised an elegant eyebrow. "So you thought yourself unable to defeat even a single orc without that heavy, iron … thing? Bless you Gimli, you wore it for months during the Quest and still you have it on. Is it possible that is it glued to your skin?"

"I am not, and it isn't! And mind you, elf, I can very well defeat a single orc – single handed and blindfolded so be it."

The elf gave him a smug smile. "I have a sudden urge to test that theory …"

As a reply, Gimli threw his arms dramatically into the air. "I am not unable to defend myself! Why do you always try to prove the difference?" he cried. Legolas only laughed in answer. Their discussion ended abruptly when Legolas sensed someone approaching and a moment later, he heard quite heavy footsteps. Heavy shoes against the wooden floor. Turning in the doorway, Legolas saw the two dwarf brothers walk towards him.

"Gimli, I believe you are the one responsible for your two dwarven friends," Legolas informed his friend.

"But you are one of the hosts," Gimli said, a bit suspicious.

"Aye, but how should I know how to entertain two guests as dwarves? We do only have so much ale and wine to spare." To his amusement a blush crept up behind the dwarf's beard and Gimli muttered something under his breath. "I only jest, Gimli," he added with a smile after a moment, with the two dwarven brothers now only two feet away, standing waiting for Gimli. Obviously he had arisen memories that Gimli had hoped to forget and probably hoped _him_ to forget.

"Bah, elves …"

Legolas' smile broadened a little. Taking the moment of silence between the friends, Rani and Garhn took the opportunity to speak. Both had removed their heavy armours and their statues seemed to have somewhat thinned. "Prince Legolas," one of them greeted with a nod. "We wondered were to refresh ourselves after our journey?"

"Ah yes, come with me," Legolas said, silently scowling himself for being a bad host letting two dwarves alone and confused within the Golden halls just to spend time with his friend. "Gimli?" he added, turning to his friend. "Will you come with us, or do you prefer the bookshelf for company?"

--

In the Hall, Legolas found a servant to ask for a meal for the guests. The hobbits appeared that moment, as out of thin air, and greeted Gimli laughing and excitedly retelling every moment since his departure. With the hobbits was Lifae, and like a shadow he slipped to Legolas' side and stayed there. While the hobbits had the dwarves engaged speaking of chess and adventure and old tales that Bilbo had once told, Legolas bid Lifae to sit next to him. He had not seen his since this morning.

"You seem attached to those hobbits," Legolas said. "Have you been playing chess again?"

"Actually, no. We were down the stables to see the horses, and their ponies. The Halflings are very genuine, caring, daring, creatures. I also made sure Arod is in good care," Lifae said.

"Are you accusing my betrothed to be a bad host to his own horses?" Legolas asked with a serious face.

"Of course not my prince!" Lifae assured him, slightly alarmed. He had not meant to imply that! It was not his place. And these people seemed fair and King Éomer a good man. Hopefully, it would not be as hard to watch after the prince if King Éomer was there to help holding the prince at bay from danger and mischief. "I did not mean to upset you, my prince."

Legolas laughed. "I am sorry to alarm you so, Lifae. I was only jesting." Lifae looked relieved but still regarded him with intense eyes, as if just making sure he had been jesting and not threatening him.

Food was brought in, a musty soup with bread and meat, served with ale. The dwarves were served, and while they ate they were entertained by the hobbits. Legolas decided they were fairly busy right now and would not mind if he slipped away for a moment. He left the table along with Lifae, who insisted to come as well now that he had left the prince alone all this morning.

Legolas was a little startled when one of the dwarves burped, and thanked for the meal, and after that politely asking for a bath. The elf bid a servant to make ready baths for the dwarves. When the dwarves were about to leave table, Legolas allowed all except one to go following a servant alone. He fell into step beside Gimli, ignoring Lifae behind them. "How was your journey?" he wondered. "I forgot to ask."

"Less troublesome than the last journey here to I had," Gimli said, then added in a teasing tone, "but perhaps that is because you were with us that time."

Legolas grimaced. "I was not the one who barely could ride …"

"I was not unable to ride! I simply did not like to!"

Legolas smiled. "Of course, my dear dwarf, of course. So you met no orcs or wandering trees?"

"No, and by Aulë's beard, I'm thankful for that! Walking trees, talking trees … I cannot say I am overjoyed that we have to go back to that dark leafy forest again just to see a lot of trees. Trees are trees, what matters if they are walking or not?" Gimli said.

Legolas just shook his head. "I fear no sense will ever come to this dwarf," he said sadly. "When you be able to see beauty in the living and not just the rock?"

"Ah, we're only arguing upon the same point. But I am sure you'll change your mind, lad, once you've seen the Glittering Caves, their amazing beauty!" Gimli argued.

"Maybe we are more alike than we thought, Gimli," Legolas mused aloud. "Your people are in love with rock and stone that lies within the earth, and trees and everything living in nature grows from the earth below our feet; trees and stone comes from the same thing, so we must both love the essence of the same thing …"

Gimli waved him away. "Keep you're elf musings to your own ears, Legolas, I'm very glad to not be one myself!"

The two did not notice Lifae laughing silently behind them at their behaviour.

--

The evening was dark. Suffocating yet again. He hurried to reach the Captain who was by the lead, to hold up their speed. They had been so close! So close. And now they had slipped away. The riders they followed were out of sight. They were crawling in the dirt, for heaven's sake, to follow a group of strangers. No information of why was given in clear words. The men as well as his companions were frustrated and wishing just to reach those people, fight, and take whatever the Master desired. Leave the rest to them. Their blood soared for it.

The progress they had made was very short. They had passed Aldburg silently, creeping like shadows close to the ground. Edoras was only a day, just hours, away – so close! When was the time? When?

The man held back a frustrated sigh. Their horses were tired and weak. The best they had managed to find in such a short time. Nothing that fit for a journey like this. To keep the horses calm and silent for most of the day and go undiscovered was the hardest part. And yes, traveling on a horseback was quicker than by on foot; but they were more easily spotted this way. If they were seen …

He clearly remembered the Master's demonstration of what would happen if they were caught. Not what their captors would do, but the Master. The blood bond had tied the poor thieves and other outlaws to the master, and where they to fail, the Master would at once know. The price was gruesome death. None of these men had an especial death wish.

They soon would abandon their horses, a mile or so outside Edoras; it was easier to go unseen this way. It all was carefully mapped out, the way in, the way out, how to travel in between, to act, the lack of mercy. Finally the men had gotten more information and knew exactly what to do, to have what the Master desired to have.

He had been the one chosen to lead this; it was almost an impossible thing. Many of his men had seen detailed maps and descriptions of this Rohirric city but never been there. He was one of the few that had been there and seen it, once even been inside the Golden Hall. It was their advantage along with the darkness of the night.

The Captain suddenly raised an arm and hissed under his breath. The company came into an abrupt halt. The man had not been expecting it and almost lost control of his steed, but managed to keep disaster at bay by pure luck. Without any uttered words, the men dismounted and laid to rest.

The Captain still was awake. His dark figure stood by the hill silhouetted against the sky. There were stars tonight, and more risk of being detected. He was uneasy this night, restless. They were so close now, so very close. But they could not go into action this night, not yet. If they rode now, they would reach Edoras by morning. No, he needed to be in that city at dead night. They needed to start riding from here before the evening came and settled a covering darkness over the hills. They needed plans, tools, fast well-rested horses and strong men at the alert.

The whole company was tired. Their heavy breathing was the only sound. Silence was a companion to him, and it disturbed him, this interruption. The breathing.

A handful of men were awake, huddled in blankets, keeping watch. No one spoke a word. He greeted the silence for a moment before turning his mind toward other matters. With a hiss he called the nearest man to his side. The man obeyed, albeit slowly, fearing him almost. Of course. They feared and pitied him the same time. None of them even whispered his name even if they knew it.

"Where does your loyalty lie?" the Captain wondered. His voice was that of a snake.

"With you, Captain, and with the Master," came the answer from the man whose name no one bothered to ask.

"And where you caught, would you reveal a single word of our very existence?"

This time there was no hesitation in the voice. "No."

"Good. Congratulations. You shall be the one to lead the men to Edoras for a final catch. Here is our plan …"

--

Edoras was filled with light this evening. There was music, laughter, dancing and drink. The golden hall was stuffed with people and voices. The feast was much like the one held here many months earlier, after the battle of Helm's Deep, even though this was one was held for different reasons. It was not only a feast of memory; it was also celebrating the new King ... and his lover. Men challenged each other in drinking contests. People sang and ate, spilling mead and ale upon finer clothing they had saved furthest back in the wardrobe for events like this.

Legolas drowned in all the sounds. The people in the hall eyed him at first a bit warily, but as evening passed on, they seemed more and more open and acceptable, an effect caused mostly by drink rather than personal judgment. Éomer was by his side, and he spotted Gimli with the hobbits a bit away. Merry and Pippin had climbed up onto a table, hooked each other's arms to dance in circles, and began to sing. By the foot of the table were the other two halflings, laughing and clapping their hands in the beat, soon also joining the song.

"Oh you can search far and wide,  
You can drink the whole town dry,  
But you'll never find a beer so brown  
As the one we drink in our hometown!

You can keep your fancy ales,  
You can drink them by the flagon,  
But the only brew for the brave and true ...  
Comes from the Green Dragon!"

"I recognize that one, lads," Gimli commented. The last time they had also danced on tables and once or twice mistakenly tipped someone's cup of mead.

"Aye, but it cannot grow too old can it!" Pippin grinned happily in response. "What about another one? Frodo get up here!"

At first their friend protested but then Merry bent down and hooked Frodo's arm. Cheers rose around the table. Many of the people of Rohan, as many others, found the hobbits extraordinary and in a case like this, very amusing. Soon they also managed to get Sam, who was flushing red, onto the table, all the four hobbits gathering. "Come on Sam, don't be shy, I know there's a poet somewhere inside of you!" Merry prompted, turning to Frodo. "And you, won't you entertain us a moment or two. We all deserve it! You had an Uncle great to teach you as well."

It took some prompting before any of the two gave in to their cousin's wishes and sang. Legolas watched the whole spectacle with raised eyebrows. The songs they recited must have been old ones for Pippin and Merry joined, having known them from before.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go  
To heal my heart and drown my woe.  
Rain may fall and wind may blow,  
And many miles be still to go,  
But under a tall tree I will lie,  
And let the clouds go sailing by."

"Now you, Sam! Now you!" they cried laughing heartily.

"I'm not that good at this at all!" Sam protested. "Mister Merry, I don't think -"

But his friend interrupted by raising his cup and quickly starting to sing an old song, which Sam once had come up himself, and Merry had actually remembered it, though it was such a long time ago it had been made. Sam had sung it that time when they were traveling with Strider to reach Rivendell, under the shadow of the stone trolls;

"Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,  
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;  
For many a year he had gnawed it near,  
For meat was hard to come by.  
Done by! Gum by!"

"Nay, it's not fair this!" Sam said, rolling his eyes, his cheeks faintly red. "Pippin, Merry, there's no humour in that anyways. Now let me go will you?"

"It is full of it!" Pippin said and started to dance, still apparently holding Frodo. "Merry hold him for a moment!"  
Legolas felt Éomer lay a hand on his waist. "What is catching your attention?" the man wondered. Legolas just smiled and nodded towards the hobbits, and Éomer chuckled.

"Gimli is asking for me, but I just wanted to see what you were up to before I go," the man explained about his sudden appearance. "Is everything still well? I first thought you were with him and he would surely tire you."

"A dwarf tire an elf with his ramble about stone and other unmoving things existent in earth?" Legolas exclaimed. "Nay, such a thing is nigh impossible. A dwarf could never match an elf in anything."

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "Anything?"

Legolas' smile was broadening. "Anything; though maybe there is something I cannot quite put my finger on left behind for the dwarf rather than elf to handle." The statement puzzled Éomer but Legolas did not explain further what he meant.

The man left; Legolas went to relieve himself and take some gulps of fresh air outside, but decided to go back inside. To find Gimli and Éomer. He had a feeling that if Gimli dragged Éomer with him near some drinks, things would not go well.

It did not take him long time to find them. Gimli was seated on a table and Éomer stood before him holding a half-filled mug. The dwarf saluted and cheered, but then his eyes landed on the elf, and he paused in mid-air. He did not put down his ale, but did not drink it either.

"Gimli!" Legolas cried, dismayed. "What are you going? And Éomer, love, what have you been fooled into?" The elf took the cup from the man's hands and put in on a bench. Éomer gave him an apologetic, slightly uncertain smile.

"I am sorry, my love."

Assuring he was forgiven, the elf kissed the man's cheek but refused to let him go just yet and took a strong hold on his hand. Éomer had actually not expected this sort of reaction from this love. Tonight he had not thought so much at all, really,

Legolas rolled his eyes and looked at the dwarf instead. "Gimli, did you fool my fiancé into this? Ai, I should not have let neither of you from my sight … And did I not warn you, my friend Gimli, about barrels, flasks, cups and glasses or anything alike containing-"

"Bah, calm down, laddie," the dwarf cut him off hurriedly. "T'is not that bad. I mean it's not that very strong, just a little strong, but there's nothing bad about it ... Nay, nothing can be too strong for a dwarf, no of course not."

When he looked at the dwarf, Legolas' eyes were dangerously hard, almost making Gimli wince. "Oh really now? What about that bottle of Mirkwood wine on the other day?" he wondered a bit too lightly. Beneath all that beard, Gimli blushed and muttered something under his breath. Legolas' sharp ears could pick it up, though it was dwarvish so he did not understand a word anyway. Maybe it was not so very appropriate.

"Pointy-eary princeling …" Gimli did not say anything further, mostly because he could not find any appropriate words.

Legolas shook his head. "There is a stupidity in dwarves which I cannot quite understand," he muttered under his breath. "I do not understand it at all." A little louder, he said; "Can you not hold back this strange urge of yours to fill your stomach with this vile drink for tonight? By the morrow your head will ache and I do not want to hear you complaining at breakfast."

Gimli burped and put down his cup after a large, last sip. "All right. I'll stay clear from this, a while, and rest my head." Once the elf had gone from sight, he silently decided, he was going to finish the drink. "And do not think me mad enough to seek you out when you are around the King of this horse-land. No, no, no."

Legolas smiled. "Finally some sense has found its way to you, Gimli," he teased softly. "Oh, and I forgot one thing …" He took Gimli's cup from his hand. There was still mead at the bottom of it. He did not put it on the bench next to dozen other's, including Éomer's, though – he knew that Gimli would just take it then - and started walking away, Éomer by his side looking slightly flushed.

"Legolas! It's not fair!" the dwarf cried, hurrying after him. "Give it back!"

Legolas made an innocent face. "What? You were not supposed to drink anymore tonight. You promised, remember, or has your memory fallen short yet again?"

Gimli scowled at him.

"You are not threatening me in front of my fiancé, are you, dear Gimli?" Legolas teased. "Go rest or dance, but please, stay away from the drinks. It is for your own best, you must know."

"All right, all right …" Gimli started moving away from them; when he suddenly was grabbed by someone and pulled into a dance, Legolas could not contain his laughter. Éomer's brows climbed up his temple in surprise before he too laughed. Silently, Legolas had to admit, the dancing dwarf was not as bad as he had thought. Gimli held the beat even if at some turns he stumbled, thanks for the drink he had consumed.

Éomer pulled Legolas close. "Can we dance tonight, my love?" he wondered.

Legolas looked at the crowd, spotting many moving bodies and laughing faces. The hobbits were atop a table and Aragorn and Arwen had just starting dancing as well. "I am afraid that Lifae will not allow me to even walk much now …"

Nodding in understanding, Éomer smiled. "Ah. Of course." He still held the elf tightly. "Are you feeling hungry? We could find something to eat."

"Yes. That would be good."

When they reached the main tables, placed between two pillars by the side of the throne, the hobbits had just finished their singing and their voices were drowned in applauds. Somewhere along that, Gimli reappeared, and his hair looked a bit tousled.

"Hello Gimli!" Pippin said in greeting. "Where have you been? We couldn't see you!"

"Hm, ah, well, I …" Gimli shifted from one foot to the other. "I think I missed some of your youngster's song and dancing here on the tables. Was a bit busy."

Merry frowned. "Wonder how he did that? We don't look that short when we stand on the tables," he asked his cousin in a low tone, when Gimli made his way over to the food.

"Maybe he was dancing or something," Pippin suggested with a laugh. "Does anyone know if they've got pints here?"

"No idea," Merry replied and picked a handful of grapes from one of the baskets on the table. He ate them in two goes, but did not share with his cousin. Pippin chewed on an apple. "Here," Merry added, taking two empty cups from the many lined on the table, giving one to Pippin. "Come on, let's go find something to drink."

--


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's note: **Updates have become irregular again but I am working on the chapters, trying to figure out just what will happen now … Things have to be stirred up a little don't you think? There are things that still haven't been solved and characters we haven't met in a while. That's a reason why this chapter happens to be quite short. Um, I wasn't that very pleased with my last scene and I can't just seem to figure out what is bothering me; anyone know how to make it better, text-wise?

**26/11/09**: Important! I corrected an error here, around the middle of the chapter, and it was a content-error that wouldn't have worked with the next chapter. I have also corrected and updated chapter 1-5 of this story.

**Thank you, yet again, reviewers:**

DevilChile: Oh whoosh! This must be the longest review I've received, or at least among them x). I'm glad you like the story, and I hope no one will be in a near-death experience because of the suspense ... We'll soon find out about these men lurking about … I do not have much to go after in maps or books, I've got only an old copy of LotR and the internet (which is not so helpful to get the _true _information) to go on.. I don't know how long time it takes to ride, either, I'm no rider, but I think your estimations are quite correct. For the characters in this story it took them around one week, give one or two days, to reach Edoras, but maybe it should have taken about two weeks. There was a pregnant elf, after all. Though they had only one wagon, and used a road much of the way. Anyway they are resting (and feasting) under a roof now … Unaware of those strange men and their 'captain'…

jaynieraevn2: Glad you enjoy this!

wytman: Thank you for another review! I know, I know, my updates are slow (rhyming was not intended!), but I haven't forgotten this story. Your review got me to think of something – Rohan, has it a council of sorts? I have settled that it has, or will have, when Éomer is king. Though hopefully the councilors aren't like Gríma Wormtongue. So there will be some new characters dropping in here sometime during the story or if I make a sequel to this, if anyone wants it.

**----**

**Chapter 38**

**----**

Merry and Pippin found themselves by the ale and among people who began to bombard them with questions about their folk, the hobbits. Like any hobbit would they told in detail how they were related to every and each hobbit and the Rohirric people who listened in fascination and not little confusion laughed a little, and would never remember all those names they heard. "… I know him very well of course, a great hobbit he is. He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side and my third cousin, twice removed …"

Gimli, who had found them quite easily, shook his head and laughed. "I'll never understand hobbits," he claimed. "Pippin, whom are you talking about?"

"Why, Frodo of course! Aren't you listening, Gimli?"

Pippin was related to Frodo? Gimli shook his head again. Probably were all hobbits related to each other; brothers, sisters, cousins once removed … He took a small sip of his new, filled cup, but then caught sight of Legolas across the room, a flash of gold; he gulped and put down the cup. Only Legolas must not have seen him. The elf was mothering him to the endless! Ale was a wonderful drink! Was not the elf grown up in Thranduil's halls with all those wines? Gimli glanced over the room again but the elf did fortunately not look his way.

Legolas sat by a table next to Éomer, eating and talking, with a smile on his lips. Gimli could swear the pair was in oblivion to the rest of the world, and right now it suited him fine. He dared to empty his cup before starting to search the hall for his dwarven friends. He had not seen them since the beginning of this feast. Mayhap they had tired of this celebration of men and elves were they did not fit, and retired.

Somewhere on the floor that had been emptied from tables and chairs to be danced upon, he met Aragorn and Arwen. The elven lady was wearing a deep blue dress and a red scarf, and a circlet was placed on her head. Gimli was struck by the thought, why was not Legolas wearing one? He had had one on both Aragorn's coronation and the wedding in Gondor. He had thought all elves but especially Mirkwood elves would wear much jewelry, at least the son of the King. Thranduil loved treasure, so Legolas should wear something like that … The dwarf decided to find out later. '_Well, soon he will have a trinket_,' he thought, remembering his promise to King Éomer, a little thank-you for letting his people live in Aglarond. Legolas probably did not know yet; even if he had been close to know when he discovered the piece of small folded cloth, back in Minas Tirith before his departue …

He was so lost in thought that he did not notice it until he walked into a table. A silvery laughter ran out on his left side. "Gimli, you look a bit unsteady," Legolas commented.

Gimli looked at him. "I haven't been drinking if you believe so. I was thinking, if you must know, princeling."

Legolas decided to put the matter aside and held back a retort, because this was a feast after all, and he was not – thank heavens! – Gimli's mother. "Come sit and eat with us," he suggested.

The dwarf shook his head. "As much as I'd appreciate your company, no; I'm trying to find the sons of Baribun, my dwarven friends. Have you happened to see them?"

"Nay, I am afraid not," Legolas said. He had not seen them since lunchtime. The two dwarves were quieter than he had expected them to be; maybe they were much in the same position as Lifae, guardians, watching from a corner. He had thought most dwarves to be loud and unfriendly and uncivilized, but Gimli had proved quite differently.

Éomer had contented himself with some buttered bread and heard the dwarf's question as well. "I have not seen them for awhile; I saw them slip outside the hall."

Gimli nodded to the King. "Thank you." Then he slipped into the many people and his short figure was as hard to spot as the hobbits. Legolas could not see them; in fact it was growing hard to see anyone. There were so many people in here. His eyes were growing tired and he almost drowned in all the sounds, laughter, and faint music. The feast must have continued longer than he thought it had, maybe hours.

"I think I will retire," he said to Éomer.

"I will follow you to your chambers," Éomer said and would take no protests. He stood and offered his hand, helping the elf to stand, and together they crossed the hall.

Legolas smiled but warned him; "Lifae is watching us."

It was very true, as usual. The elven guard saw them making it for an entrance and he quickly made his way over to them, laying a hand on the prince's arm.

"Lifae, Éomer is taking me to my rooms. I am beginning to feel tired," Legolas explained.

"I can take you," Lifae said, glancing at Éomer.

"I am no child, Lifae," Legolas protested. "We shall not do anything," he added.

After a moment, Lifae gave in, but gave Éomer a wary look. The man and Legolas were not married yet – and Éomer was a Man, a king of men. What if he took advantage of the situation once the two were alone? Were most men not that greedy and selfish?

Then he shook his head. It was foolish to think so. He saw no ill intent in Éomer's eyes. _'No, I do not think he would do that.'_ But he let a silent warning come to his face for the man to see, and Éomer met his gaze.

Legolas sighed. "Lifae, go have fun and celebrate. Do not worry about us. I will just sleep."

Lifae nodded, and let go of Éomer with his gaze. "All right, princeling. Good night."

They left the hall in silence. Once they reached Legolas' chambers, the silence there almost was deafening, but it also soothed Legolas' ears. The room was dark, unlike the hall which bathed in light. Éomer waited by the doorway as the elf went to the bathroom to change and came back dressed white leggings and a white loose shirt, barefoot; he tucked the elf in almost like a child. He could not resist stealing a kiss and it made Legolas laugh quietly.

"Sleep well, love."

"Good night …"

--

"It's a bit late," Pippin said, glancing over the room but could not find any windows to look through to watch the sky and determine the hour.

Merry shrugged. "I wish Gandalf had brought along some fireworks. It'd be a nice spectacle." He downed his cup. "I can't see Frodo and Sam, or Gandalf either … I think I'm off to bed. Or do you want to play a round of chess first?" he asked his cousin.

"Let's bring Laifenn or whatnow his name is again, along," Pippin suggested. "Maybe he'd even share a few tricks with us."

"It's _Li-fae_, you know. I haven't seen his for the whole evening."

Pippin ate the last of his apple. "Hm. It's a bit late to go search for him. We can play without him. Where do you keep the board?"

--

It was dark when he awoke. The window was firmly closed and he felt warm; it must have been the heat that woke him. He slipped off the bed and crossed the room silently, opened the window slightly and sighed when a breeze of fresh air caressed his face. It was still night; the stars were sprawled across the sky. When he concentrated, he could faintly hear the feast still going on; the voices and music from the instruments these people used, different strings and pipes.

But there was something else now. He frowned. A low voice too nearby to be from the feast. Maybe it was only someone going to bed … Yes, it was. The voice died away.

After pulling the curtains aside, he moved back into bed. He still felt warm and could not cover himself with the blankets. Crickets sang outside the window; it lulled him. He let his mind slip.

There was the voice again. It cursed angrily, muffled through the wall. _Keep quiet!_ it almost sounded like. There was a shuffle, then the air silenced.

His eyes opened and he shifted on the bed. Could they not just let him sleep? He was intrigued, though. He did not know anyone else except Merry who had rooms along this corridor …

Footsteps hurried down the corridor now; he heard their steady pounding. Slowly, he moved out of bed and padded across the floor to the door. The footsteps had stopped now. He paused with his hand on the knob. Maybe it was nothing. He sighed and stretched, hiding a yawn beneath his hand. He was too sensitive now; he listened too much and could not relax … There was a feast going on nearby anyway, maybe one of the guests were passing by … Nothing … Silent as ever on his feet he crossed the room again, used the privy and went back to bed.

His sleep was light and blurred dreams edged at his vision. Several times he almost woke. He saw darkness and stars and shadows in the grass; he awoke very suddenly when his vision turned red like blood. Something felt wrong. Something was not right.

The corridor sounded empty and the feast very faint; he barely could hear it. He lay on his side now; he had shifted through the night, still feeling uncomfortable and warm.

The door opened slightly behind him; he heard it creak and soft light slipped inside. "Lifae?" he murmured. "You are very late … it's not like you …"

There were footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Elves stepped lightly; this could not be an elf. And that smell … that drifted across the room, dampened by the soft wind from the open window … It felt wrong, foul even. Did Lifae come in company? Why, and with a man, in the middle of the night? If it was as anyone would think, he would not want to know. But then he blinked, realizing something. Lifae would not do that. Unless, if he came not willingly …

"Lifae?" Legolas wondered quietly, turning around and sitting up.

His breath was caught in his throat in surprise. A tall, quite broad silhouette covered the doorway; he could spot one or two more behind whoever it was. A sword gleamed in the man's right hand – it had to be a man. That was definitely _not _Lifae. Whatever they wanted, they had not come stumbling to the wrong room sleepily and drunk. There was a gleaming in their eyes. The one with the sword stepped closer.

Legolas reacted at once, but he was too slow. He moved for the window, even if it had been impossible for him to escape that way however in his condition. The man rushed inside and someone else dashed past with pounding feet against the floor, shitting the window with a clattering noise and covering it with the curtains.

Strong hands grabbed his arms. He wanted to fight and kick and hit them of pure instinct but found he could not; he did not dare to. His child, what if he hurt his child, what if these people _hurt his child_?

Suddenly something pressed against his mouth. He coughed on his breath and the next moment his world became dizzy. The damp cloth pressed harder against his face, and he tried to struggle against the arms that grabbed him but to no avail. His panic rose in a flash. He was too weak to struggle. Whatever drug was used, it took over his senses.

He panicked for his child's sake, if his child was hurt ... he ... He could not ..._ breathe ..._ ! The world spun before he dropped into deep, black unconsciousness.

The arms scooped up the pregnant elf as if he had been nothing but air. But hearing footsteps and voices nearing, the men cursed and reached for their weapons.

The door opened wide and two halflings rushed inside, stopping dead in their tracks seeing the scene before them. The darkly lit room held a handful of tall broad men with evil glints in their eyes. And one of them held an unresponsive Legolas in his muscled arms. The elf's eyes were closed.

"Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?" one of the hobbits exclaimed. They were going for their rooms when they had heard strange noises, loud footsteps, voices and the sound of steel. Coming from Legolas' room. It was strange. Why strange voices, and why on Arda swords? He had gone quite early, they knew, from the feast to sleep. They had followed his example after a while, after a round of chess. _This_ was not what they had expected at all.

In response, the men were upon them at once. Their rising cries were muffled by cloths and leather pressed against their faces, and the men hit one in the head quite badly but yet they did not cease struggling.

"Drug them and gag them!" the leader, holding the golden elf in a strong grip, hissed through gritted teeth. He was angry and the men heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes. They were not supposed to me noticed at all; and those two little ones were not even in the plan. They had been ordered to kill any Man that tried to hinder them, and take any halfling that was in the way with them. But they had not thought any halfling would come in their way at all.

Pippin went lose on his captor with his hands and feet, and once he got the chance he bit a hand and let out a scream for help. Next moment he fell to the floor, unmoving, having been hit hard in his temple; Merry cried out with wide eyes, both afraid and angry, not really knowing what was happening. Who where these big folk!? Why where they in here and why were they taking Legolas? What did they-

A cloth was pressed against his mouth, and the air he breathed was thick and damp. He could not resist the drug for long before he too fell into darkness.

"That wasn't good," muttered someone. "We've got to bring them on with us now, they will only be a burden."

"Then what do you s'ppose we'd do? Leave them to be discovered?" argued another quietly.

"Shut up your nonsense! Let's get out of here before anyone hears your blasted voices!" one of the men hissed, eyeing the group from the corner of his eye.

The leader still muttered under his breath as they started to move out. Were they to fail this, their master would have their heads, and their captain could be almost worse, if that was possible.

To get out would be harder than to get in, their captain had said. It was quite true. Now they had prisoners they had to carry. But as many people of Rohan were in the Golden Hall, celebrating; they had not been discovered when they had hid their horses and sneaked into town. The guards were put low around the city, all threats believed to be gone, at least for a time.

The men used a window to get from here, like when they came. This time they used the elf's window though, not the one in the empty corridor, and it was good that it faced the edge of the town, making it possible for them to go unnoticed in this lack of light. They climbed down the facade of the building to the ground, then silently made their way down the shadowed hill. The sky above was dark and starless, the absence of the moon helping them to melt with the ground, going unseen. It was a good thing the halflings were so small and the elf so light in weight; but something the men wondered and then cursed about, was the fact that the elf glowed.

It was a faint but fully visible light from within the elf itself; no one could explain why either. They used one of their own cloaks to hide the elf from view, covering the fair face and tying his hair with a leather strap, making it invincible under the cloak.

They could not go through the gate, and they had not planned to. In the middle of the night with only the light from the stars to guide them, they had found a weakness in the wooden walls around the city. One by one they climbed over, as silently as they could, using ropes to bring themselves and their prisoners over. In his unconscious state, one of the hobbits groaned, but he did not awake. The men had with their knifes cut off the tips of the wooden walls, so they no longer were pointy poles but rather smooth and they were able to come to the other side without being discovered or making too much noise. Or being trapped up there.

Their horses were some half a mile away. It had been too risky to leave them near the city, in case they made any sound and were discovered. The beasts could not understand their urge to be quick and smooth like shadows. But of course not. Some of the horses were even unwilling and had at the beginning almost gone wild, fearing the men, lashing out and almost breaking a man's bones in the process. But they had been tamed with whips and harsh words and the endless trudging along the road in the dead of night.

Half a mile, they crept away from the hill. Everyone thought the same; it had been mostly bare luck they had been through this unseen, unscathed, and alive, but they were not sure what the Captain's reaction would be when he found out they had also hobbits with them.

Behind a hilltop, the rest of their own stood waiting, crouching in the grass. One greeted them with a nod as he stood up, untied a horse and helped to sit the elf upon it. They tied the elf's legs to the saddle, and tied his hands. This way he could not put up a fight or run away. The rest of them started to pack, make ready their horses, and exchange a few words. They would have to hurry back to the Master with highest speed, but this time they had to risk to go at daylight, otherwise they would not be fast enough. They knew they had to be careful now with the pregnant elf; if they put too much stress on his body and lead him to miscarry, they would definitely pay with their lives. Their captain had told them enough to made them obey unquestioningly.

Two men were chosen to ride with the hobbits tied to their saddles behind them. The captain appeared as out of thin air; no one asked where he had been or what he had done. It was not their business. Without a word, he sat up behind the tied elf and took the reins.

When they moved out, the only witness of their passing was the Earth, and it could not run to tell others what had happened.

--


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's notes: **Ah no! Please don't kill me! Ahem. Sorry about that. It seems people aren't very pleased with me leaving you with that cliffhanger …

The time to update is because of schoolwork, and I worked on a few haiku-poems that were due on Monday, and of course my mind got stuck on it. I hope I finish this fic by Christmas - maybe as a little gift?

I noticed a content-error in last chapter, which I have fixed. It said in the middle of the chapter that "he [Legolas] did not know anyone else except **Aragorn and Arwen **whohad rooms along this corridor …" It should have been "he did not know anyone that had a room along this corridor, except for **Merry** …"

**Reviewers, le hannon!**

DevilChile**: **Ah, okay, I see how you think. There are trees, yes, but they are not so very near Edoras itself. I think more like a dozen of trees in a small area maybe an hour or two outside Edoras' walls. But, as you may notice, I took notice to that fact in this chapter. The trees do their best to give warnings at a distance (even though Wood-elves, which of one is present in Edoras yet, has the strongest connection to trees in my opinion). On your council-part, think of the 'council' more like a gathering of village elders/strong political people/farmers etc. that happens regularly every year. It'll be a lot easier to get knew this way and to rule over a land that is not so very old or tied as for example Gondor. The distances between towns/villages are larger in Rohan. The only council-member that lives in Edoras is in fact balding. The others live at other places. The one representing Aldburg and the region around is Erkenbrand, for example. And thanks for the review! I love that you not only say that's it's a good or bad story but also gives me a few pokes here and there … A long review got a long answer :)

M: Haha! Told you people I was or at least could become evil, when I wanted to. I'm coming to the rescue, New chapter! I'm glad you're reading this story!

whytman: Hm, but I have given you a rope now to help the cliffhanger now! Thanks for your review. (Comment on last line: awwww! Do you want a cookie?)

MdarKspIrIt: Thanks! Here you are. I am fighting writer's block!

Nita: Hello and thanks for the review. I'm so very excited when I find someone had dropped by and left a line on this (or any of my stories), and to find not one but then another one new reader makes my day! I am glad you like this story so far, even if it is a bit messy.

I wonder if anyone can figure out who the 'Master' is … (I cannot! Oh wait a minute; I have the script. So yes I can!)

---

**Chapter 39**

----

Gimli was having a very good time. He had found the sons of Baribun, in a corner of the room. He had first told them they were supposed to be a bit merrier, laugh and drink some; after all they could not dishounour their hosts. When they had only listened with half-an-ear Gimli scowled at them and told them they were behaving cowardly, like they were afraid of the festivity and Men, sitting like sour children in the corner. They protested as any dwarf would have protested. Then they did accept to come with him.

He took them to somewhere in the middle of the crowd; people actually did not notice them, they were too much into their own glee. But it was good for his dwarven friends to socialize a little. In some way, surprised Gimli. His eyebrows rose a little. He hadn't used to think that way before. Dwarven honour among guests or among their own, yes, he was quite strict about that. But he had not forced his men to relax and just have a good time. The sons of Baribun were his friends, but they were also guards and warriors, and they were always so tense and ready to grab the axe. Just in case. Maybe it was the ale and the singing, or the fact he had been around the flightily elves for too long. Oh, Legolas was influencing him with his stupid philosophy and singing and god-knows-what. Was he doing that deliberately?

"Tasty and full," one of the dwarves admitted, tasting content from the barrel that Aragorn had taken with them here from Gondor. Gimli knew it was wine but he did not reveal until after the drink where it came from.

"Ah yes, a gift from Thranduil of Mirkwood. Or the Greenwood those flighty elves so much insists it should be called," Gimli said.

"Mirkwood," Gahrn repeated. "Oh yes, from where King Éomer's fiancé come. Son of Thranduil." His eyes heated a little. "That pointy-eared-"

Gimli raised a hand to stop him. "Do not insult him, for Legolas is my friend, and I consider him a brother in battle; no matter of what his father did to mine and his companions."

He saw that both other dwarves were tense now. "Battle? Was he even able to fight? I am not blind, lord Gimli; are you? Can you not see his condition? The only explanation I have …"

Gimli put away his cup. Ale would not help this serious heated discussion. He hesitated for a moment before speaking, but decided it was no point to deny the truth. "And you are right, Rani. You are very right of his condition. I beg you not to speak loud of it. No, I order you not to."

"So the people here do not know why the elf-prince has such a curious appearance?" Rani asked looking a bit bewildered.

"They may guess as for yet, but does not know." Gimli personally wondered when Éomer or Legolas would make an official announcement or if they would let the people find out themselves when it became obvious. The birth of Legolas' child could not be far away now.

Gahrn muttered something on his breath. He was the elder of the two brothers and more hasty and prone to anger than Rani. His brother spoke instead. "I am curious, lord Gimli. How long have you known?"

Gimli leaned over the table slightly as if to obscure their conversation so that no one else heard. "Oh, for months. I can recall the events around then, and it involved many an accidents. It was before the Battle of the Hornburgh. The damned stubborn lad tired to hide it from us but he had this terrible mood and when he told us, we could actually see he was showing. How he would hide it from us all the months, I've no idea. The lad's too stubborn for his own good."

Rani downed another cup of ale. He felt he needed it now after this strange revelation. On his side, his brother looked merely very sour and angry and it did not surprise him. For anyone he would just look slightly tense – but the dwarves could see that look in his eyes. He was mad. Yes, such things as elves upset him easily. The fact that Gimli had made friends with an elf and honoured him, calling him a brother, easily put Gahrn on fire; he would not show it for other than his own people, of course. He had been too strictly lectured as a child to do so. The fact that the elf, Legolas, that Gimli had befriended, was now in a condition so strange for a male it was a hard concept to grasp, made his anger fuming. Was it not a shame, for a male, to be carrying a child? Or perhaps the elves were all this strange and deformed?

Gimli knew his temper. He gave him another ale. "Gather your senses, Gahrn," he told him slightly sharply. "Do not start to insult anyone."

"But it's a disgrace!" the dwarf spat. "It matters not if he is an elf! It's yet disgusting and should be something forbidden. Is the elf not supposed to be unmarried as well, betrothed to this king of Rohan? I don't meddle in elven affairs, but it unsettles me, or perhaps it's just the way of the elves: they go from one bed to the other without a second thought."

Gimli felt a growl rise up his throat, hearing his friend being spoken of this way. "You will not insult Prince Legolas or his people," he said in a low voice. "Elves are nothing as such."

"You would have said my words yourself just a year ago!" Gahrn said. "Some witchery has been done upon you, lord Gimli. These elves. I swear, _it is they_, influencing you and taking control of your thoughts. Do not trust the elf."

Gimli met his gaze steadily. When he spoke he too was angry and felt insulted, and his voice was strong. "Then I could tell you not to trust anyone but me, and if you still do not listen, I will see you behind bars and locks during the amount of time it'll take you to comply. Never speak an ill word of the Elves again; keep your thoughts quiet. Is that understood?"

For a moment it looked like the other dwarf would not give up. Gahrn's shoulders were tense. He would defend his meaning now and say what he thought. He would defend his meaning and challenge the other dwarf, in combat, to make him understand just that elves might have been created as the Firstborn, but had sunken very low, unworthy of walking on the same earth as the dwarves. For a time he said nothing. Gimli's gaze did not falter, and Rani watched the two silently.

"I obey your orders, my lord," came Gahrn's final answer, in rough Dwarvish.

"I take your word and expect you to hold it."

Gahrn wanted to say no, but Gimli was unswayable, and he was the lord of Aglarond and the son to a lord in Erebor. "I will."

--

It was a churning feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the ale he had recently tasted. He barely had drunk any; he preferred Mirkwood wine anyway, and he needed to keep alert in mind and body just to be sure. Lifae did not know why he had this sudden feeling of … trouble.

Perhaps he ought to see prince Legolas, just to be safe. It was an old instinct Lifae had. But what could be wrong now? Nothing dangerous could happen here. Unless the prince was up to something troublesome – and maybe not the sort of trouble that he had gotten from Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Lifae excused himself from the group of Rohirrim he had been conversing with – who also had been very curious of his homeland and such – and they looked a bit disappointed.

On his way towards the entrance he met up with King Éomer, who greeted him when he passed by. The King knew that the two elves shared chambers so he did not ask why Lifae was going in that direction. It was dark and late, and some people were beginning to retire.

The door to Legolas' chamber was firmly closed; though the one a little further away from it was wide open and he could see light illuminate from it. But it was quiet; Lifae could hear no sounds from it. Perhaps the inhabitants had simply forgotten a few candles or an oil lamp lit.

He knocked gently at Legolas' door before opening. There was no response from inside.

"Princeling, are you asleep?" Lifae asked quietly, waiting in the doorway.

Still there was no response or movement, and the prince did not retort his question with a 'Not any longer, Lifae, and why are you so late?'. The bed was empty, the one nearest the window un-made, and the layered blanket lay hung over the edge of the bed, part of it on the floor. Lifae frowned. Was not Legolas here? But he had gone to sleep, not anywhere else …

First he looked over the room and glanced into the bathroom; Legolas was not there either. Then he looked out of the window. It was slightly open letting in fresh breezes; the air outside was dark. It was eerie quiet and the town below the window appeared to be asleep.

'_Oh Princeling what have you done now? Have you thought it fitting to sneak out somewhere at this hour?' _Lifae could not help but think. He drummed his fingers against the windowsill.

He decided to visit the other open chamber. Maybe if there was anyone there, they had seen Legolas. But there was no one in sight. The bed was neatly made and upon a table was a chessboard, but the pieces had not been set yet. Next to it stood a handful of candles gentle glowing._ 'A chessboard …'_ This was one of the halfling's room. He decided to wait by the doorstep, just in case someone arrived. There was utter silence here; the candlelight played on the furniture and the texture of the ceiling. When no one came into the room for over five minutes, Lifae crossed it and blew out the candles, before closing the door after himself when he left the chamber.

The elven guard felt a rising feeling of worry. Legolas would not just have disappeared, if not he somehow had managed to become invincible, which was not likely at all. This felt not like one of the prince's little games of hide-and-seek that he sometimes involved his guards in when they were back in Mirkwood. But he had been tired when he had left the feast, Lifae had seen that, and the elven guard was sure he would simply go to sleep. But now he was gone. Had something happened? _What_ had happened?

He made his way back to the feast again. When walking past Legolas' room, he looked inside, but there was no one there.

He heard the feasting before he went into the room. No one was aware of the elf's troubled feeling and even though his face was set as stone, his eyes betrayed his uncertainty. He should not have let the princeling out of his sight! Who knew where he could have gone? Oh, when King Thranduil found out … He was supposed to guard Legolas and during their first week in Edoras he had failed. He knew he should have listened to his better judgment earlier this night and followed Éomer and Legolas, just to see _exactly_ what had happened, where they had gone, and what they had done and where Legolas had gone after Éomer's departure back to the halls.

He glanced across the room, in search for the King. Perhaps he knew. But he had seemed calm when they just met, like he had no idea – or this was some prank and he knew very well. _'Prank?'_ Lifae thought with a frown. _'Ai, My Lord Thranduil shall be very much mad. His elfling has not grown up yet.'_

It took him over half an hour to find Éomer, or rather to know where he was. Obviously he had retired to his chambers. The hour was late. Lifae weighted his options. Either he could just let this wait until morning and go search the Golden Halls by himself, or he could alert the King and ask him where he had last seen Legolas. At which, if Legolas had not showed up 'til then, chaos would ensue as the King would have everyone to search for his betrothed … Lifae thought so, at least. He was no sure. Éomer was a King in love but Lifae himself had not been in love for a very long time, to feel that possessive urge. The sense of trouble had smoothly worked itself into one of worry and deep concern.

He would be very ashamed if he alerted the King for nothing. But rather that, than if Legolas really was in danger and he did not alert the King at all. Lifae tried to ask his way to the King's chambers. Some people looked at him as if he made no sense at all, and then he realized that some of the people spoke not Westron.

By chance he happened upon a man he had seen before in the palace, he recognized him even if he knew not who he was. "Excuse me, sir …" Lifae was cut off when someone passed between them with two tankards or ale. "I am Lifae, Prince Legolas' guard. I wonder if perhaps you know where I could find King Éomer?"

"Ah yes, I believe I recognize you. I am Balding," introduced the man himself. "He retired for his chambers just minutes ago. May I inquire why you seek him?"

Lifae paused for a moment. "It appears that Prince Legolas has gone missing," he said after a while. "I cannot seem to find him; he retired some time ago but he is gone from his chambers. I thought that perhaps Your King knew where he went."

"I have seen neither King Éomer or his fiancé for some time. As it concerns about Prince Legolas, you are right and ought to speak to King Éomer now. I will guide you to his chambers," Balding said. Lifae took the offer and followed him out from the halls.

--

It was very dark. And damp. His body felt like he had been strapped on a wheel, spun around and 'round and 'round …

'_Ow, why does my hands feel like an Oliphant has stepped on them? I can't actually feel them!'_

It was how he woke up. Pippin gasped for air, because his head spun. It was so dark. He heard rustle, thumping, then there was … a voice, it said something on his left. A large hand grabbed his shoulder. He tired to move away, but was trapped. In a short time he tried to gather his mind. He could not see a thing; something was tied before his eyes. His hands hurt and his leg hurt and his arms hurt; his hands were tied. He was sitting on something, in a saddle, and it was moving up and down and forward. His bare feet dangled several feet above the ground. He was on a horse! How on earth had he gotten here? Where was he?

Someone was sitting behind him. Something hard and cold, metal-like, pressed against his whole back through the fabric of his clothing, and he tensed up. It felt like a confusing, bizarre mixture of riding with Rohan's men and being captured by the Uruk-Hai.

Suddenly he remembered. Merry had been there too!

His hands felt so numb and cold and his head spun. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Merry?" he croaked.

There was an unfriendly, unfamiliar voice that answered, but not to him. "This one's awake."

"Merry?" he whispered again, a bit louder. He wanted to grasp something and hoping it was Merry, to know he was here. All he grasped was a few strands of the horse's mane. He bumped pup and down and it made him dizzy.

"Keep him quiet," hissed someone. "We need to hurry. We are yet a day from there."

Pippin could not determine whether it came from his left or his right.

Before his captor could follow out his orders, Pippin's shoulders slumped and he slipped back into uneasy unconsciousness, as his tired, battled body and mind took its tool.

--

Éomer was surprised at the knock of his door, and at this late hour. Oh, he must have forgotten something in the halls, or someone would ask one last question before retiring for the evening, and give him a little peace. He quickly rose from the bed and redressed. He was a bit surprised to find Balding and Lifae standing there.

"Yes?"

Balding nodded for the elf to make his message. "I am sorry for my intrusion my lord, but I wonder if you have seen Legolas. He appears to be gone."

A frown flashed across Éomer's face. "I escorted him to his chambers personally."

"His chambers are empty, my lord. He is not in the hall." Lifae did not want to peek into the man's room but if Legolas had sneaked with him here … He was in trouble, the prince knew that, and the thought of Legolas in a man's room still unsettled Lifae a little. For him, Legolas was yet only a child.

"I have not seen him since that. I cannot see any reason for him to disappear." Éomer looked at his friend by the elf's side.

Balding shook his head. "As I explained earlier to Master Lifae, I have not seen Prince Legolas for approximately an hour."

Lifae shifted from one foot to the other. He was not really sure of what he should say. The men seemed quite calm over the business, and probably it was juts his nerves that spooked again. Of course nothing was wrong and Legolas was probably in his bed, asleep, by now. "I might have been to hasty with my conclusions, my lord. I ought to see prince Legolas' chambers again," Lifae said. "He might as well be back and asleep."

Éomer tiredly rubbed his neck; he caught himself in the middle of the move and lowered his arm. "I will come with you," he said. If an elf was worried, he reasoned, there was reason enough for him to worry as well.

"Lord Éomer, I am sure there is nothing wrong," Balding said. "I could come with Master Lifae, for you need your sleep."

"No, no. I am not so tired yet. There's no far walk to Legolas' chambers."

Éomer instinctively went before Lifae, as they walked to the elf's rooms. In the corridor outside the hall full of feasting, they met up with the hobbit Sam. His hair was a bit tousled, like he had been pulled into a hurried dance. "Excuse me, King, and Master Elf, but have any of you seen either one of those mischief-filled Merry or Pippin?" he asked, eyes flickering from the elf to the man. Éomer was dressed in other clothes than from the feast. Hadn't he gone to sleep? Well, it was not his business what the king was doing up in the middle of the night in his own house.

"Nay, I have not seen young Meriadoc and Peregrin for a time," replied Lifae kindly. He saw how the blonde hobbit was still acting slightly awkwardly around him, because he was an elf.

"Not me either, I am afraid," Éomer said. "But I do know the way to their different chambers. Young master Brandybuck is installed the way we are heading."

Sam did not mind to follow them, not at all. Actually he was very happy to, because he had a chance to ask Lifae a few questions, and this was the first time he talked directly with the elf. And the king of the Mark, of course, though the man was mostly silent. Lifae's Westron had improved.

"Over there," Éomer said gesturing at a nearby door, once they were by Legolas' chambers. The door to the hobbit's room was closed firmly like Lifae had left them, the elf reflected.

"Thank you, sire." When Sam knocked at the door, no one answered, so he dared to intrude and went inside.

Lifae knocked as well, but there was no reply; he frowned but opened the door. The room was like before very empty, and the bed was in the exact condition as before. Legolas' boots were untidily pushed in the corner next to the wardrobe, just like before. Was this a game of hide and seek?

"Princeling, you may show yourself now," Lifae said lightly. Still no one answered. The frown lingered on his fair face.

Éomer stepped into the room. This was the second time he was inside of it. He remembered the elf's voice before they parted, the kiss. The room reminded him of it.

"He is not here," Lifae stated quietly. "Where could he have gone?"

"I do now know. The stables? Outside? I do not know. When we parted he was tired and I am quite sure he was asleep by the time I left," Éomer responded. While the light-footed elf started to search cabinets and the bathroom, the man felt too that Lifae must have a reason to worry. He also felt troubled. If something had happened …

"I'll let Balding and his men search through the Halls, and then if he is not found, the town," he decided. Not knowing where Legolas was left him both uneasy and … afraid. What if something was wrong, if his love was hurt?

--

Éomer did as he had told he would. He sent for Balding immediately. He had a feeling that he would get little rest this night. There was trouble at finding men who could be snatched from the feasting to search instead, but once Éomer stated his orders clearly a dozen of guards scrambled to their feet hurriedly ready to comply.

Éomer waited outside his chambers for bad news while he hoped they were good. Legolas had not shown up yet, he was not in the hall or in the corridor. Every chamber had been searched through; even lord Aragorn and lady Arwen's. As soon they discovered what it was about, they minded not the mid-night intrusion. Or they told the guards so. Éomer was another matter that Aragorn would deal with later. The King knew how close Éomer's men had been at stumbling at a rather … embarrassing situation.

Samwise Gamgee had not found either Meriadoc or Peregrin. Then later no one else could find them either. They decided to rouse Gandalf the wizard, who first had scowled them and warned them not to disturb a wizard in his much-needed rest, and then chided the men again when they told him of the situation why they did not make him earlier. They were very confused, poor ones; they were only soldiers following the King's orders.

Sam and Frodo, grew worried about their friends' disappearance. Were they up to some trouble? There must be some reason for a Took and a Brandybuck to disappear from a feast at the same time. Was it real trouble this time or was it mischief? Something Legolas had agreed to?

Gimli and his dwarf-friends sat on a table in the middle of the room toasting when a guard ran in with a slightly panicked look in his eyes. He spoke in rapid Rohirric. "What is the man saying?" wondered Rani.

"I do not know, I do no know that sort of speech of men," Gimli said. "He sounds worried though. Is it a warning maybe?"

People about them started to leave. Cheers ended and instead a low endless murmur began among them. Chatter here and chatter there. Gimli was growing a headache and he did not understand anything! Where was there someone speaking coherently when he needed them?

He pushed himself to his feet onto a chair. "What is going on here?" he demanded. Ah there was someone he recognized well, the silent dark-haired elf guard that always followed in Legolas' heels.

"Master Elf! Master Elf!" he cried over the murmur and babble.

The elf heard him somehow and he was for once glad of the flighty creatures' hearing abilities. Quickly the elf made it to his side and he had a worried and questioning expression on his face.

"Master Dwarf?"

"What on earth is this babbling? Can you tell me what is happening, or maybe you are as confused as I am at the moment, Master Elf?" Gimli asked trying to hide his bewilderment and not succeeding very well.

Suddenly the elf looked very grave. The expression he wore did not quite fit his face. "I only know that Prince Legolas is gone, as are the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregrin. They have not been seen for over an hour and a half, but in the prince's case it is strange since he retired to rest around that time ago. He is nowhere in his chambers or this building, nor are the hobbits. That is all, Master Dwarf."

Gimli frowned. "Are you sure they did not … go for a walk?" He sounded cautious.

Even if he could have been lighter to the mood at the comment he did not smile the slightest. "No. They are simply … gone. They have vanished. It is like a shadow has crept inside the halls, unnoticed by the festivities, and taken them."

Gimli understood. "What will we do?"

"Search. But I do not know how long that will take. Mithrandir said we couldn't begin to search properly until we are under sunlight."

"So if they were forcibly taken, take hostage …"

Lifae finished his thought for him. "…Aye. They would be long gone by then, Master Dwarf, and it worries me."

--

There was ... heat.

He woke up in a dark, strange room. A room too warm, the air too thick. Leather cuffs tied him down to a stone platform of sorts; he knew not where he was, or why. His mind was so foggy... The ties cut into his delicate skin. The air was thick, moistly even, and heavy to breathe.

His first reaction was panic.

When he tried to move he found it impossible to do so more than half an inch. He was trapped. It frightened him even more. Where? Why? And by whom was he being held? He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Who would hear him anyway? He was trapped in a stone cellar. Maybe even underground...this must be underground. It took all of his will to calm his ragged breathing down; but his heart raced and he lay trembling. He could feel heaviness of the earth press down at him, and it frightened him. He felt strangled.

He did not know how long he had been down here, how long he had been unconscious ... drugged, probably drugged. He was hungry, tired all of sudden, and alone.

Shutting his eyes tightly he tried to think of something happy, a good memory, to slow down his rapid heartbeat. It was impossible. His panic mixed with a hundred of questions. It was so silent here, but then when he started turning his head, eyes darting around, and saw only shadows but started to hear everything. The sounds of soft tapping footsteps. Dripping of water. A weak squeal, more tapping. Rats were moving in the darkness. He could no lie still now. He wanted to take a deep breath and see the sun again. A deep breath. He inhaled and exhaled as slowly as he could, but his body was still tense and his senses peaked, reacting at every sound he heard. The weak tapping. The rats that were running around in the dark.

Feeling his parent's distress the child kicked. Legolas opened his eyes wide, gasping. He could not reach his abdomen. He could barely breathe; it felt as if someone was standing on top of his lungs, leering down at him. The babe moved again.

Muffled echoing steps broke the tapping silence. He took a deep breath, closed and then opened his eyes. Calm down. _Calm down._

He could not calm down. His captors, who ever they were, were coming now, their steps tapping against stone. What would they do with him? Use him for some evil affairs? Somewhere in his mind he registered that he could be perfect bait for the King of Gondor or one of his friends. Or maybe torture him ... kill him?

_Eru, my baby, please do not let anyone hurt my baby!_

_--_

_**Author**__: I know there was little action involved at all! Maybe in the next chapter? Well, I do not want to ruin the secret of whom the captor is this early off … do I?_


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's notes: **Sorry for the long absence. But there were not a few things that had to be done now these last weeks in school. Also, I've gotten a new computer keyboard, and some of the keys are at totally the wrong place (in my opinion) so writing goes slower. Also during the last few days it's been slowing, quite a lot too, so my hometown is covered with a white layer.

This is the first story I've written containing a kidnapping plot like this (I've never written a crime fic or murder fic either), so if the plot is messy and the characters a bit too straight to point, tell me so I can make this better! I'm yet a newbie, you know.

**Reviewers**:

whytman: um, sorry about that cliffhanger! Okay, _this_ time I'll fetch a rope and try to pull the elves and hobbits up.

DevilChile: Yes, it could be anyone right? It feels like _someone_ from the inside must be working with this, either alone or with people not from the inside … Ah well, now I shouldn't reveal everything at once, right! As for Saruman, he has barely any powers now, but one never knows …You and the others will find out whom the 'Master' and the 'Captain' are very soon.

Isabelle Eir: Thank you for your review and patience! I am stretching this thing, am I not?

**--**

**Chapter 40**

**--**

He could not calm down. His captors, whoever they were, were coming now, their steps tapping against stone. What would they do with him? Use him for some evil affairs? Somewhere in his mind he registered that he could be perfect bait for the King of Gondor or one of his friends. _Éomer …_

Or they would hurt him, torture him ...

_Eru, my baby, please do not let anyone hurt my baby!_

He could not let his child be harmed, no matter what. Could not. His baby was his everything. As an answer to his silent prayers the child moved again. He too was restless, afraid …

The door to the room creaked as it was opened. His head whipped to his side. Seeing the man stepping into the chamber his heart was caught in his throat, tightening dangerously.

_Saruman!_

The wizard's robes were worn and had turned gray, as his whole appearance, the eyes almost red and filled with madness. His face was sunken. Behind him crawled a pale shadow, a man with skin like white sheets, a sharp contrast against the old black robes he wore. He was hissing and cursing under his breath, sometimes glancing up at his master, coldly, hatefully, but never retreating from his side. He was like a slave, crawling in the dirt by his master's feet. But Legolas felt no pity for Gríma Wormtongue.

When Saruman moved closer, Legolas pressed himself, or tried to, further and further away from him. The leather cut his delicate skin.

Saruman was pleased seeing the elf awake. They had waited for hours to the drug to wear off; the elf's condition weakened him. The maia had almost feared that the elf's strained body could not take having the simple sleeping drug in his systems, and that the child would succumb as well. But apparently it was too little for the elf to give in. If the elf died, then all his plans would be ruined – and now they had not much time.

"What do you want with me?" Legolas demanded. His voice was hoarse. His tongue felt strangely thick, it was hard to speak; he could not make his voice sound firm.

His panic was not soothed by Saruman's smirk. "I have a task of importance for you," Saruman said. When a spider-like hand was laid on his belly Legolas inhaled sharply. He wanted to kill Saruman with his own hands by daring to touch him thus. His blood boiled. "And your child."

"I will kill you myself before you touch _my child_!" Legolas hissed through gritted teeth. And he would. That was a promise he was sure to keep. Saruman would not come out of this alive. He would not! How had the wizard escaped from Orthanc? The Ents were guarding it! The Ents! They were strong, fierce and faithful; they would never let him go! They would not.

'_Would they?'_

The elf was beginning to panic. The wizard was no longer a wizard in anything but name; he could not use his powers anymore. Mithrandir had broken his staff. Mithrandir had … _Mithrandir!_ What had he to do with this? Was this some sort of revenge, a plot against him?

The smirk did not falter. However, a gray eyebrow rose and the maia's eyes flashed. "We shall see, elfling," he murmured. "In time you will give in to my wishes."

Legolas glared at him. "Never. I rather die!"

The wizard smirked down at him. "Such a thing can be easily done," he said. "Be patient, little elfling. Be patient ... Gríma!" he called, making the pale man flinch. First the man did not look up, but Saruman kicked him in the side not too gently. "Go, fetch them," he said. "Hurry, Worm!"

Gríma's eyes darted over to Legolas, who lay trying to hide his tremble, for a second before he returned his attention to the task Saruman gave him. "Yes, master," he said hoarsely. With one look over his shoulder at Legolas, he left.

Legolas found it hard to breathe in the wizard's presence. He remembered clearly now – in Isengard, months ago, this maia had seen his soul ... and his child's soul. He knew, had known since then. What was he plotting? He had no doubt it was only for the wizard's own fortune, not anyone else's. The thoughts that formed in his mind almost made his shake with fear and anger. The wizard wanted his child, why he did not know, and he did not want to find out what … What would he do? What could he do? He must have a kind of power yet …

_'I cannot let him take my child from me!'_

_--_

Éomer decided to give the news shortly, simply and formally. Ignoring the gathered men's widened eyes, he told them as much of the story he dared to tell; about Legolas' child and the father. They seemed surprised but some, Balding included, were quite understandable about the situation.

Lifae had explained to him when he asked this morning about elven marriages, that there was no ceremony necessary at all when elves married, and it there was one it was just to make it more official. It was lovemaking that bonded two souls together. Gender mattered little. It almost never happened that an elf married twice. If their mate died, they usually also faded, or took a ship to sail to the West. The grief that a loss of a wife or husband left behind was too much to bear. Éomer grew a larger picture of what exactly Legolas was going through, and he realized that the child must be the only reason – at least from the beginning – that Legolas survived the loss of Egil.

By sunrise he gathered some of the most important people in the town, and some from the outer villages that had come to the feasting, and also the three healers that lived here and helped the people in Edoras. He told them without pauses for comment or injections. He saw that the gathered were surprised and full of questions but decided that would be for later. It just felt like the right time to tell now, also because Legolas' child was due very soon, and with the kidnapping …

When he switched the subject over to the latter, he saw their reactions change from wonder to frowns. They could not help much other than through guessing, motives and where the elf and hobbits were taken and by whom. None of them knew either of the hobbits or Legolas, and Balding was actually the only one who had spoken – even so briefly – with one of them. If this was someone from Mirkwood, from Legolas' past … Éomer rubbed his temples. Then what could they do?

He needed to contact elves at once, especially Thranduil. "Sent after Ulgwýr, please," he ordered. Ulgwýr knew how to write well. It was not one of Éomer's strong abilities. And to contact an elven king … He wanted to be quick but formal. Legolas had told him about Thranduil's nature and he would appreciate a formal letter. Perhaps it could also smoothen out the elven king's quick temper a little, and not grow him so worried at once. Perhaps he should send for him? But it would take weeks to travel to Edoras, several days even if they used fast elven horses or even ran. Elves could run far and long without growing tired. But how many days did they have? If Legolas…

"My lord … my lord!"

The man hurried through the hall to reach him. The gathered had split up after the information and some had gone to find riders. Éomer paused in his steps; the other had urgency in his voice that turned Éomer's thoughts also onto urgent things. Legolas, the hobbits, the break-in … How long would it take until they found a trail to go on? If something happened to Legolas – oh, he would…

"My lord, I just wonder … If Prince Legolas truly is with child, just how can it be _possible_?" Balding asked, looking slightly flustered. He was a bit suspicious though. Was the elf using some kind of magic? Or was this the way it worked for elves? Did both males and females carry children?

Éomer's shoulder tensed of what could come. "I do not know how it can be possible," he answered honestly. "Prince Legolas has told me it is rare, however, and has heard of only a handful others in his condition … He says he has inherited it, an alteration of his body when he was born, and some other male of his family line must have had had this ability as well. But I cannot explain this fully."

Subconsciously he tensed in worry, and anger, thinking and talking about Legolas. Who had taken him and why? He had to find him, somehow …

Balding managed to regain his composure somewhat. "It does explain many things," he said, "both of his behaviour, and his appearance ... If you do not mind me saying so."

For the first time since the feast, Éomer smiled. "I understand why you and so many others have been puzzled. I was as well …" Then he sighed and shook his head, pulling a hand through his hair. "I shall speak to Gimli the dwarf and ask for his and his people's help in the search. There must be some traces, clues … Why this happened."

Balding nodded seriously. "Someone from your fiancé's past, mayhap?" he asked slightly hesitantly. "If there was someone holding a grudge against him, or had something else to do with him, there could be reason enough to kidnap him."

"But why the hobbits, though?" Éomer wondered.

Balding looked away for a moment, then back at the king. "I do not know," he muttered. "I shall send riders to the villagers, to ask if any strangers have been seen during the last month. It could leave a trail for us."

Éomer nodded. "Please, do so. But if the villagers refuse to speak, tell them that the king of Rohan sent you. I do not wish for violence or to threaten my own people, if I must; but I need answers. Do as you must."

"Yes, my lord." Balding left with a nod of his head.

He sent also out riders in all directions from Edoras, and they were to inspect every part of the land they could, hurriedly, and try to find a trail. He had sent someone to find each and everyone that had been at the feast, and ask him or her out if they seemed suspicious. But there were so many guests and there had been to clear list of invited. Anyone could have sneaked inside …

The elf-guard Lifae had been tense all time, very present but silent, in a corner. Always in the same room as the King, and Éomer learned why Legolas called Lifae a very over-shoulder-looking person and mother hen. But the man was also comforted by it, and felt secure even if he did not know the elf. He proved himself worthy as a guard as well, when once the door opened, quietly so that Éomer did not hear.

A breath later a young man, not older than nine-teen, was held down on the ground by strong arms and a knife against his throat. He looked shocked, and uncertainly eyed the elf, who quickly released him and apologized for his mistake; he had believed there had been an intruder. The whole moment had taken just a second, and Éomer barely registered it had happened before Lifae once again stood in the corner and the young man nervously eyed him while rubbing his elbow.

"My lord, I-I apologize for my intrusion, but there are news from the riders that left two hours ago. Two of them are back."

"And what did they find?" asked Éomer.

"They report that found trails of horses leading south-west, and another trail, a bit more visible with mud following along it, leading north. They were unsure what to do so they left five others where they found the trails, and they are awaiting your orders, my lord."

Éomer thought for a moment. If the tracks leading north were sharper, it could be because either the kidnappers had indeed gone there, but had not tried to go quietly; or the kidnappers had been smart enough to make a clear, false trail that hopefully eventual followers would choose, and themselves went south-west. Or it was different trails all together.

"Are these paths connected to the road? Does it look like the riders had used the road at any instance, or have they avoided all roads and villages?" he asked.

The young man shifted on his feet. "No, they did not follow the road on either trail, and only crossed it once, the one leading north," he said.

'_It could be only average travelers, even traders,' Éomer thought, 'but then again, how many average travelers or traders are there at these times, when the War has just ended? Is it not a bit too early to cross empty grass-lands just yet? And if these are travelers, why not use the road? Few Men lives northward … because elven kingdoms lie near. And few of Mankind dares go near them. If this is a work of the elven-folk …Are those beings even capable of something like this against one of their own kind? They seem so ... pure, even if some may be arrogant, they are not … evil.' _He glanced at Lifae and then thought about Glorfindel; he yet remembered the elf's anger, and watching him hit Legolas; but now he understood more than he did then when it happened. He had been told that that sort of action was not at all in Glorfindel's character. It just was not something he did – but those emotions he had felt …

He was losing his track of thoughts yet again.

The silence had lingered for several minutes. The young man's gaze flickered from the King to the elf in the corner, and then to the king again. He shifted nervously. He had never before been near a king or ruler, and had never spoken to one either. And the elf was so silent it was unnerving. When he moved there was no sound … No sound at all.

"My lord…?" he asked silently. "What should I tell them to do?"

"Tell them ... Let the five riders that are yet there to investigate the paths further. Try to find signs; of old camps or other trails leading from them. Take someone with sharp eyes with you. I wish to know more. Can you tell me where to these paths are heading, more exactly, and where they begin?"

"I will, my lord. And the paths begins to be more visible some half-a-mile from here, and the weaker one leads in the general direction of Firien and Gondor's boarders, while the one northward is much straighter and appears to lead toward the elf-forest … Mirkwood I think it's named, but since no man has ever been there I'm not sure."

The slight hiss between Lifae's teeth was barely loud enough for them to hear. _'Mirkwood?'_

_--_

Gandalf was on his way to the stables already ahead in his mind of what was going on. Gimli was on his tail, trying to catch up. "Where will you go?" the dwarf asked hurriedly, when the wizard opened the stable where Shadowfaxe was waiting. Oh why did the wizard not only have a fast head silently humming, refusing to tell him or anyone else anything yet, _and_ have long legs? He could not read the look on Gandalf's face; it unnerved him.

"Isengard. I believe a visit would do us good."

"Isengard? And who'll go with you?" Gimli did not doubt Gandalf's strength or capabilities, but he did not like the thought of anyone going alone to the place where another wizard was being held locked in. Who knew, he might threw another black stone at him, or try using magic or whatever else power he might yet have, or his voice … There were a hundred possibilities.

Gandalf looked up as someone entered the stable. "Ah, Aragorn. Did you bring them with you?"

The man nodded in greeting to Gimli and then turned to the wizard. "I do, they are waiting outside on their ponies."

"So you and the hobbits will go with him?" Gimli figured out talking to Aragorn now. "I'll come with you, if this trip can lead us to Legolas, Merry and Pippin." He would be damned if he just sat here and gathered dust, while his friends were captured and being held somewhere! Unconsciously he grabbed the hilt of his axe.

As if he had been reading his thoughts, Gandalf shook his head. "No, I am not expecting you to wait here with nigh to do and your axe stored away. Am assigning you to stay with King Éomer and lady Arwen, who will remain here in Edoras, and be their guard. Try stay near to lady Arwen as much as you can, if not you can assign Lifae – Legolas' guard if you remember him – to that task." The dwarf nodded, seeing his logic. If the kidnapper had taken an elf, he or she may come again for another. But Gimli also was sure that Lifae must be quite on the edge now, since his charge had been kidnapped, while he was there basically; he must have feelings of guilt. Maybe it was better to let him watch over a Man, King Éomer. After all, Mankind often was more sensible than elves.

Gandalf turned, but then paused, and said, "There may be more foes lurking bout the city yet; I trust you to especially ensure the security of the guests of this house. Aragorn, the hobbits and I will be back within four or five days. Be alert."

Gimli hefted his axe. "You have my word, Gandalf. I swear to let no one that is not a friend come by without my notice and my axe by their necks. It should hold them back for a while. If not, we do have a cavalierly here, horses and riders to the left and the right."

Aragorn was already saddling his steed, as the doors opened and two hobbits looked inside. "Are we ready to leave?" Frodo asked. The man and the wizard both nodded.

"Take are, lads," Gimli reminded them. "I don't want another chaste across these grass-lands and through the ent-filled old forest just to get you back."

_--_

The hour when Ulgwýr came into the chamber, Éomer was silent and tense, as was Lifae – as usual. A woman sat in front of the King, hands folded in her lap, and she stared at the wall. She did not cower, but nor did she speak when she was questioned. She had been present during the last hours of the feast and there was something about her that unnerved Éomer. She refused to tell what she knew, and she only said it was his fault, that he was a faulty king, and that she had seen some strangers and Legolas – but all this was because of Éomer's low guard. Éomer was tapping his foot, impatient, but refused to let it show on his face. When Ulgwýr entered the room he did not look up. Then, he nodded.

"Lifae, fetch two guards and let them take this woman away."

When she stood, two men holding her arms not too gently, she spat at the floor. She sent the King a firm gaze and then she looked at Lifae coldly. "I will not have any goddamned elves in my homeland! _I will not_!" When she was pulled away, Éomer let out the breath he did not know he had been holding. Lifae looked at the door for a long while.

Éomer rubbed his temples as Ulgwýr took seat; the man took this freedom to do so without the king's permission, since he had know Éomer since the man had been but a child. He had acted as a teacher for him, and when he was younger, he had been one of many to show Éomer how to properly use a sword. "You sent for me."

"Aye … I need to write to Legolas' father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood. I think I need some advice."

--

Isengard opened up before them as a vast green garden, with trees of many kinds bearing leaves and fruit, and flowers and roots had grown and broken the old ruins of stone that was left since Saruman's living. Orthanc looked yet untouched, rising like a black pillar to the sky in the middle of the greens – but the tower's base was buried in water, a pond that was connected with a small singing stream. The broken road that once had led to the tower was gone, replaced by a path edged with grass and moss. Gone was also the old gate of Isengard and there was no sight of the stone marked with the White Hand. A wonder had been done here, they all agreed.

No living creature was in sight and like in Fangorn, it was quiet except for the wind in the trees and a bird flying from its nest with a cry. The hobbits gazed around in wonder; they had not seen this place before, but the other's tales about Isengard and Orthanc had been quite vivid and this was nothing of what they had expected. The trees were larger than they should have been if they had just started to grow. Sam was especially thrilled. It reminded him of Rivendell and Lothlórien, the beautiful gardens and the _mallorn_, and the elves. Elves would have loved this place!

They were a bit surprised when they heard a deep voice call, _hoom-hom, hoom-hrrm-hom_ – something Frodo and Sam never had heard the like before – and Treebeard appeared with another ent on his side.

"Welcome to the garden-city of Orthanc!" the old ent greeted them. "I was sure that you would come, but I had some work up the valley, for there is yet much to be done here. But you have not been idle either, away in the east and south, I hear, and what I have heard is well, very well!" He had heard very much indeed, they realized, as Treebeard began praising them for their deeds since the Three Hunters and Gandalf last had been in Isengard. When he quieted he looked a long time at Gandalf. By the wizard's side, the other riders were silent.

"But now it is over," Treebeard finally said. "And you won after the plans, young master Gandalf. What will you take on now? And why are you here?"

"Our visit here is not only to see how it is with you, my friends, and to thank you for what has been done here," Gandalf said to the two ents. "We are in a hurry now, for three of our friends have been captive by a foe we might or might not know. Two of them are the hobbits Meriadoc and Peregin."

Treebeard's eyes darkened a little. "_Hoom,_ that sound not well, indeed, and I am surprised. Young Peregrin and Meriadoc are greatly appreciated here. We ents will give you the help we can to find them, but I wonder who the third is?"

"An elf-prince from Mirkwood, one you have met before," Aragorn spoke up, from Gandalf's right side. "His name is Legolas Greenleaf."

"Hm, yes, I can recall, he was the elfling with the dwarf-friend, and I do remember my promise, for him to visit the Ancient Forest. _Hoom-hrrm,_ this was ill indeed and now when those – _buráum _– evileyed-blackhanded-stonehearted-crumblelegged-bloodthirsty, _morimaitesincahonda_ – well, as you are a very hasty people and their name is full of years of torture, this vermin of orcs now are gone from here, I had not expected such a thing. The orcs came over the River down from north and around the whole forest of Laurelindórinan but dared not to enter there because of the Great who lives there. The filth were more surprised to meet us on the plains_, hoom_, they must not have heard of us before – hm, but not many of them were left to remember us. Most living of the rest of them made it for the River. It was look for you they happened upon us first; otherwise, the king of the grassy hills would have no home to return to. To hear the news you carry, then, is ill."

Aragorn drank the words. Gandalf spoke again. "What of the wizard you have locked in your tower? He mustn't be pleased of what you and your kind have done."

When Treebeard shook his large head his old limbs creaked, like they were the limbs of trees bent under a forceful wind. "Nay, the ill creature was not delighted when he heard what had happened. Tired of Orthanc he was, and of we ents' talk to him. He came yet and listened to everything we had to say, for we were the only sources of news he had. _Hoom!_ But he was tired, yes, and must have like all you hasty people thought our tales long and sluggish. Far too hasty was he for his own good."

"I hear that you are very particular using 'was', 'listened', 'came', my friend Fangorn – but what of 'is'? Is he dead?" Gandalf wondered.

"No, not dead, as far as I know," answered the ent. "But he has left. I let him go; there was not much left of him and the worm-like creature crawled behind him. Do not tell me, Gandalf, that I promised to guard him, because I know I did. But things have changed since. I promised to keep him under my guard till he could do no more harm. You should I hate more than anything to keep a living being caged, not even such a beast do I want imprisoned longer than necessary. He and the other are no more than teeth-less serpents now, and they may crawl where they want."

Aragorn's heart plummeted. He was not sure whether Treebeard was right or not – but what if he was wrong? Either it was a coincidence that Saruman and Wormtongue had escaped, or they had something to do with Legolas, Merry and Pippin's disappearance. He could not think of anything else. He doubted that Saruman would quietly retire to a remote place and never put his mind onto greed and other such things again. He might be a Maia and an Istari, but he had been fooled and blinded by the Ring and now … Who knew what he could do? What would he do? Aragorn glanced at Gandalf; his old friend must also see this connection. Even if Saruman's staff was broken, was it not any way for him to practice his art?

The hobbits had about the same reactions. They had heard of Saruman much from Gimli, Merry and Pippin in particular, and when the wizard first had openly tried to stop them by bringing down avalanches when they were on Calhadras during the first months when the Fellowship had been formed. Frodo and Sam had heard about the battle of Helm's Deep and that it was Saruman's army that had attacked – thousands of orcs and Uruk Hai against just a few hundred men.

"Let him go?" Sam said in a low tone to Frodo. "This does not sound good, with him around the corner. We don't even know what he's capable of, and we've mostly heard bad things about him. He could be anywhere …"

Frodo silently agreed.

"It might be so that you are right, Fangorn," Gandalf said to the large ent before them. "But this serpent can yet have one fang left to use. He still have his voice and skill of mind, even if his staff is broken; I am afraid he simply talked you down when he found the weak point in your heart."

The wizard quieted for a moment and hid a sigh; the nearest a sign of despair he had shown. He could foresee what Saruman would do, could do, or wanted if it was he who had taken the elven prince and the hobbits. The questions were maybe no longer _who_, but _why, how _and _where_ – and what; what would Saruman do? Had he fallen into blind madness for power again and was making a revenge for having his staff broken? Or was he –

The thought that had lain covered in dust in Gandalf's mind for a very long time suddenly appeared. Yes, that must be it, why. Then it was strongly possible that it was Saruman, after all, who was behind all this. At the same time it answered the question _why_, which was as good, and might answer the question how to find him – in time. Yes, it mattered more about time now, if Saruman had the scripts … and then, the birth that he must be waiting for, was very near…He _did_ have every piece he needed.

"Well, he is gone now, but we must yet find him again and quickly," Gandalf finally said. "The tower of Orthanc will once again become the King's property as it was from the beginning. But maybe he does not need it."

"We'll see," Aragorn said, still thinking about his captive friends. "But this valley belongs to the ents to do as you wish, only if you guard Orthanc and let no one in there without my permission."

"Deal," Treebeard said. "I had Saruman giving me the keys. Bregalad has them."

The ent he referred to, who was also called Quickbeam as he was seen by the rest of the other ents as hasty, bowed like a tree to the wind toward Aragorn and gave him the two large black keys that were linked with a ring of steel. Aragorn took them and thanked them, wishing their forest to grow in peace, but had his thoughts set far away. He saw from the corner of his eye how the hobbits were softly exchanging one or two words, one of them more impatient than the other. They would have to leave, but he was not sure where. They needed to find Saruman – but they had no idea where he could have gone.

Gandalf would not leave yet. He rode into the pond, which had shrunken rapidly so it was only deep enough for Shadowfaxe to wade through with his rider almost dry, and Aragorn followed him. The hobbits stayed behind, mostly because they had no desire to go into the black tower. They dismounted and waited in Treebeard's company.

Aragorn and Gandalf quickly reached the stairs, where they found a spot to dismount, and their horses waited patiently there by the base of the tower. With the keys Aragorn opened the large port but let the wizard in first. He had never been inside this tower before and he could feel the traces of a great power here. The hall that greeted them was set in darkness and a thin layer of dust covered the furniture.

"I must see to a thing. Wait here," Gandalf instructed and disappeared into a hallway before Aragorn could reply.

Not long time later, he reappeared, with various items, including stolen gems from both Gondor and Rohan. What caught Aragorn's gaze though was the map that Gandalf was eyeing and the look on the wizard's face. "Gandalf, have you found what you sought?"

"Yes, some of it and more, I believe." He showed the map, which had notes scrabbled down in a language that Aragorn did not speak or read, all over it, and a handful of places were marked. "It appears that he lost a few things in his hurry to leave," Gandalf said, "which is all good. His plan has a few cracks."

"His plan? So you know it is Saruman who has kidnapped them?"

Gandalf frowned. "I hope that I will_ soon_ know," he righted the man. "There is something I need to investigate first, and you will come with me. Let the others ride back to Edoras with all haste. We are going to take Shadowfaxe."

Aragorn felt a rekindled sparkle inside of him, which he always had had as young when he first joined the rangers, awaiting and having journeys and adventure. "When do we begin and where are we going?"

Gandalf ignored his questions, something no other man would dare to now, when Aragorn was the high king of Gondor. "Aragorn," he said. "Lord Elrond left some volumes from his libraries in Minas Tirith before he left, did he not?" He almost must have to. He truly hoped the elven lord had; there was not the time to neither send a messenger to Imradis, which was dangerous itself, or go to the Valley to search himself.

"Aye, he did," Aragorn answered, confused. What had books to do with Legolas' and the hobbits' disappearance? They needed to search, find where Saruman had hidden them and was plotting, not spending time in libraries! "It was a wedding gift."

"Tell me, where are those books now?" Gandalf was already on moving out of the tower, going in a flash from a slow word of thinking to a hasty one where he needed to search and find something quickly. He spoke again before Aragorn had the chance to answer. "We must leave now. Tell the men to go back, and the hobbits too. Hurry!"

--


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's notes: **Sorry for the lateness! I do not have much apologizes this time ... Though I had just to start on an Inheritance/LotR fic that I could not get out of my head … But I wish everyone a happy 2010!

The woman in Rohan, who is not yet named, is an original character. I forgot to mention that in the last chapter.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing that is the property of Tolkien, and every character I borrow will I return safely and unharmed.

**----**

**Chapter 41**

**----**

His head pounded painfully like he was stuck inside of a drum. For a long time he lay still and tried to force the pain to subdue.

Slowly he squinted his eyes open, but it made not much difference than having them closed. It was dark – not just dark but totally _black _– all around him. His cheek was pressing against something hard and cold. His wrists felt sore. He tried to sit and managed to do so without feeling dizzy, but he still felt disorientated and tried to remember what had happened.

_The strangers … People in Legolas' room … An awful stench … Those people drugged us! they must have taken us somewhere, Legolas and me and …_

"Pippin?" he whispered.

He reached out with a hand but found first just air, then stone. Reaching out to his left instead, he bumped into something else that was warm and felt like clothing. Someone lay beside him. Merry shifted around and poked the person in the shoulder. "Pippin, is that you?"

"Hghnn…" came the muttered reply. He did not see the person blink awake, since he could not see anything at all. "Merry?"

"You are all right!" Merry said thankfully. "You are, right?

"'m fine … but I can't see a thing," Pippin answered quietly. He raised his head towards the direction he guessed that Merry was.

"Not me either," answered his friend. There was a silent pause. Their words gave a short echo against the walls they could not see. "Can you feel it? That smell? It's like we're in some sort of … shut old chamber."

Pippin reached out and found Merry's shoulder, and pulled up himself to sit. His other hand rested on the floor. It was stony, cold and uneven; it had been poking into his back. His wrists were sore but then he remembered that he had been tied that short moment when he had awoken when the captors – whoever they were – had taken them here. _'I wonder where we are,'_ he thought_. 'And who would want to capture us?'_

The air in here felt hostile and old, like it had been inside here for years with little circulation. There was an awful smell here; it reminded him of … Moria?

"Merry … I think we're underground."

_-_-

Aragorn's guard flanked Sam and Frodo as they rode back the road to Edoras. They dearly wanted to help and come with Aragorn and Gandalf, but it would take too much time if they rode in a larger group. The wizard rode Shadowfaxe and the king his own steed at the fasted speed that the horse managed.

"I'm sure they know how to solve all this," Sam said, trying to sound cheerful.

"They are strong and wise … but if it is Saruman who lies behind this, then they have to be careful. Saruman is wise and dangerous and I do not think he has lost all of his power yet," Frodo said.

"His voice, you mean, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked and glanced at him. They were riding away from Orthanc and through the edge of Fangorn forest.

"Yes. I wonder what he can gain by capturing Legolas, Merry and Pippin," Frodo murmured.

Sam shrugged and could not find any answer to that. He was very worried about his friends and also there was also Legolas' child that bothered him, the elf was very far along now. He didn't what was worse, that Legolas had been captured or that Merry and Pippin had been.

The Gondorians by their sides were uncomfortably quiet.

--

They flew over the grass and the hills at a speed Aragorn had almost never before pushed his steed. Gandalf had not explained further why those documents that Lord Elrond had left in Gondor were so important, or rather; he almost did not speak at all. That left Aragorn to think and worry over Legolas and captured the hobbits, mulling over their situation. Whatever document Gandalf wanted, it had something to do with Saruman, he was quiet sure. Perhaps the wizard wrote it, or it held something about magic, or it was something … dangerous and uncanny. Something Saruman himself was searching for_. 'Whatever it is, is cannot be good', _he thought.

They rode through the day, crossed the Ent river, and paused by nightfall, and the horses were frothing. Aragorn had taken with him a small pack with some foods and water that they had taken with them when they journeyed to Orthanc. They shared some water and food and let the horses rest, for a while, before they urged on. Shadowfaxe seemed to have energy left for many miles.

Night passed by and they had now reached Firien, found the road and followed it in greatest speed until they were in its center. There they were forced to rest, for Aragorn's steed could not go on any longer. Aragorn stole two hours of sleep and ate a little. Gandalf watched over their small, fireless camp.

Dawn came when they were on the road again, and before lunchtime had they left Firien behind them. They used the road much, but Gandalf sometimes led them off and on it over shortcuts. They had not met up with any traveler. The landscape soared by and Aragorn had never before traveled so fast between the two lands. Now his horse seemed to have more energy before, almost like Gandalf gave it to him, or maybe it was Shadowfaxe that urged him on. Either way, Aragorn did not complain.

They rode through Anórien in a day and a night, which was a blur to Aragorn. They rode many miles between short intervals of rest and eating. When the sunrays of the fourth day shone on them and Minas Tirith was visible as a white pearl in the mountains, Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief. Gandalf advised him to pull up his hood and hide the fact that he was the king. The wizard had pulled a gray cloak over his white clothing, and slumped a little in the saddle imitating a weak old traveler. Aragorn understood and did as he said, leaning over his horse a little to shadow his face. If no one found out that they had come then if Saruman had spies or listened to rumours, they he would not know that they were searching for him. It was better if the wizard was unknowing and over-confident over his security.

They slowed down their speed only very little. The people, the guards and mostly Faramir – who had traveled from Ithilien to take care of the white city when the king visited Rohan – were shocked at their sudden arrival. When they arrived at the stairway leading up the citadel, the guards on the courtyard rushed up to meet them and help them dismount.

"My lord! Has something happened? Why have you come in such haste?" cried one of the guards. "Is there a danger or a threat?"

"I wish to talk with lord Faramir, send for him immediately. And tend the horses," Aragorn said without answering either of the guard's questions. The men complied quickly, one hurrying to find the Steward, and two servants coming up to lead away the horses to the stables.

Faramir came jogging down the stair with two guards on his heels. "King Aragorn!" he called and greeted him but a frown was etched on his face. "What has happened? You come early and in such a haste; is any of you wounded?"

"Nay, Lord Faramir." Quickly he explained the situation, what had happened in Edoras and the kidnapping, and they were there. Faramir's eyes widened.

"My lord, if we can help –"

"I have not time this fuss," Gandalf said sharply. "Where did Lord Elrond leave his volumes?"

"I will lead you there," Aragorn said and told Faramir to go back to the citadel and tell the men that no troubles had happened – he wanted to keep the men calmed – and to continue his duties as a Steward. Aragorn suspected that he and Gandalf would soon be on the move again, to Rohan, and it was better if no one found out he was there. "Faramir, order you men to be quiet of my arrival," he added before he led Gandalf inside.

Aragorn led him to the large library in the center of the palace – where the newest volumes or books and parchments most used where. The older and more rare ones where hidden in the old library, many corridors down, beneath their feet. "Gandalf, I do not understand – how can this help us?" he asked as he led the wizard toward the shelves that now held Lord Elrond's gifts.

Gandalf spoke yet as he hurried past. Searching through the books putting the first ones aside. These books had none yet read or sorted through, so there was a mix of Elvish and Westron and other languages, and a range of topics from gardening to ancient history to children's stories. "Either this can help us, young man, or it may not, but the quieter you are, the more can I concentrate on this task to find a trail at all!" Aragorn fell silent, knowing that angering the wizard now would be more than a bad idea.

There it was; a book that he had been searching for. He pulled it out from the shelf. It was clad in skin from an animal no longer known, worn by years. Aragorn cast a glance at his friend. He could not tell how old the book was. When he leaned forward as Gandalf opened it, he could not read the text at all. Gandalf did not read, no; he opened one page after another, about the middle of the volume. Then he grunted and muttered something, eyes widened; he had obviously not found what he was looking for. Aragorn heard him curse.

"My friend?" he inquired. "What, exactly, are you looking for?" If he could help ...

Gandalf shut the book so hard it echoed slightly in the otherwise empty room, and put it back. "Come with me Aragorn; I will explain on the way." He swept off again, his white robes flickering. Aragorn quickly came to his side. They walked down the corridor, then turned left and followed the stairs. Down, below the upper chambers of the palace to dustier, older corridors, where no one except the elders ever went. The Old libraries? What did Gandalf seek?

It was that moment, out of anyone's hearing, that Gandalf began to speak. "Sometimes, books are not what they look like. You might know that once, when the Council was greater, Saruman travelled to Imradis. Back then I knew not of his reasons, until I found he had left one single volume there. For safekeeping. Back then he was dearly trusted and Lord Elrond did not question him, when he was asked to keep it under guard." They paused before a door, to which Aragorn pulled out the key from his belt and unlocked. "This was no ordinary book. I saw it twice, opened it once; it was ancient. There lay secrets hidden, dangerous secrets mind you, so I knew I had to find out more. But then, Saruman went to Imradis, before rode to Gondor with all haste – with the book, probably, yes, most probably. I never realized it until now; not even when I was here before the Quest to find out the exact words that Isirdur had written about the Ring. Oh, what a blind old fool I was. The disappearance is the warning cry before the attack. It was right under my nose all the time!"

"What was, Gandalf?" Aragorn wondered. They now had reached the last corridor. It was empty now. The windows on the east side of them, high up, small as they were, were dusty and the glass old. Their steps echoed down the hall. In the far end was a smaller stair between four columns and a door, their destination. "Gandalf?" The wizard had fallen silent again, like in deep thought. This awoke a fear in Aragorn, a quivering fear – something was wrong here. This secret that his friends had spoken of ... What was it? He desperately wanted to know. Could it help finding Legolas, Merry and Pippin?_ 'But he said it was, is, a danger.'_

Gandalf said nothing until they had reached the door. Then he paused, turned to Aragorn and said; "He did bring the book. If not, it is yet resting in Imradis. You must help me to search, Aragorn. The book I found upstairs was merely a copy he had made to prevent anyone to find the real one. It is an exact copy. If you find this book, do not open it, handle it to me first."

Aragorn nodded, understanding it was more than just a book. Maybe there was more – a spell placed on it, maybe even dark magic? If this had been done when Saruman was stronger and in secret had allied himself with the Dark Lord ...

When the door was unlocked and opened, the first thing they noticed was the strange ill smell that greeted them like a wind. Not one of old moist papers or parchments, not of the dust that gathered on the floor, the shelves in the dark room, but rather ... Aragorn could not place it. By his side, Gandalf lit his staff in a manner like he had done in Moria, and stepped inside, warily. The second thing Aragorn noticed, were the lack of dust in the center of the room, leading from the door to the desk. No, it was ... footsteps, footsteps that had swirled the dust! But, since Gandalf had been here, no one else was allowed ...

"Gandalf, I have a bad feeling about this," he said, quietly, slowly following Gandalf inside. "Someone has been here."

"Then pray_ he_ was not the one," Gandalf said and then froze, now some twelve feet inside the room. His staff cast shadows of their silhouettes around them, onto the floor, the walls. Aragorn followed his line of sight.

A dead body. It could have been dead for a long time; it explained the stench. Dried blood covered the clothes and hands of the dead one. It was a young woman; how old he could not tell. She could have been dead for weeks, lying down here, no one knowing. Because of the fact that she had died inside in an isolated place, her body was not rotten and in remarkable well shape. Aragorn felt bile rise in his throat. He had seen dead people before, but like this ... This was brutal – telling by the look on her face, all that shock and fear that had frozen on her features, the pain ... She could not have a chance to defend herself. She was lying against the wall in an odd angle, twisted, like she had tried to flee from whatever had killed her but it had been too late. Slowly, Aragorn moved closer and kneeled beside her. Behind him Gandalf heaved a sigh.

"So he has been here, after all," he murmured_. How could he have slipped past my nose so easily?_

"But how could we not have noticed?" Aragorn wondered silently, wording Gandalf's thought, while carefully lifting part of her ripped dress to reveal the wound that killed her, a wound in her abdomen, to inspect it. It had pierced her lung, probably, or even her heart had the angle been upwards. He guessed a knife had done this, not a sword. Such a kill would be swifter and easier. "How could he sneak past guards, everyone, and do ... this?! He cannot use any magic anymore, you broke his staff, so if he came pas the guards to kill this woman … I cannot see how she can be connected to him at all…"

"No, he cannot," Gandalf said. "He cannot use magic anymore. He sent someone to do this, to sneak into the palace, retrieve those important documents. It is too risky to sneak inside by himself. This young girl simple happened to be in the way."

"And down here, it was easy to hide her," Aragorn concluded. Only a handful of people had access to this room, including himself and Gandalf. They needed to find those handful of people now and quickly – but what made him frown was that these men were old, the city's elders, with no intension to kill what he knew of, and probably too weak to do so as well. It could be so that the keys had been stolen, or given to the murderer, and that included more and more people that could be suspects. In fact, it could be anyone that the city's elders had had contact with the last two months. Or it could be anyone else, was the key stolen in secret. He sighed, let go of the dress and looked away from the body.

"What documents did you speak of, friend?" he asked, standing up; he needed to find guards and somehow find out who this girl was, whom her family was, if she had one. By the look of her simple dress, she was a servant here. When he turned to Gandalf he realized, "Those you search for; the book. He was after the book!"

"Not quite. The trick Saruman used for hiding this was actually quite simple." Gandalf turned, started to search for the volume he wanted to find – like it was there, even if a probable spy or servant for Saruman had been down here already. "Go, Aragorn, find the guards and alert them. There is a murderer out there and mayhap even in Minas Tirith."

This alerted Aragorn, and he hurried out from the room after bending down and closing the girl's wide terror-filled eyes.

Gandalf leaned his staff against a bookshelf and sought the room. It was easily enough to find what he needed to find. The thief that had been here must have not had much time, and had put the book back into a more or less obvious place. This volume was exactly alike to the one they had found upstairs, though not as worn, nor as dusty as the other documents down here. He laid it on the desk, and opened it in the middle to encounter a wide cut hole that stared up at him. In it rested a smaller box. He opened it, not with much hope of finding anything there, even though he dearly wished that nothing was stolen.

It was mockingly empty.

So _he had _been here, after all! This was both good and bad. He had a track to go from to find _him_, which was the good part. The bad part was exactly that; there was a track, which meant, _he was out there_. '_His staff ...'_ Somehow, he had also found servants ... Unless, this was someone else, using him as a mere cover, to prevent from being found and to confuse eventual followers. But the halflings; why take them as well? If not it really _was him _who had done this, then, there'd be revenge ... Else, the halflings could be a mistake, or a side-step trail to confuse them even more ... Or they also stepped in the way, like this young woman, and it was easier to take them.

Ending his line of thought, Gandalf shut the box and put it safely in a pocket beneath his robes.

About that time, he heard loud scrambling footsteps and knew that Aragorn was back, guards in tow. He proved to be right. In stepped the King of Gondor, with five guards and a priest. The priest seemed to be shocked while the other men's faces were unreadable, except one thing: this was a horror-filled discovery. A murder, in the palace, of an innocent girl – only some few months after the new King's coronation!

While Aragorn gave orders to have the body removed and the girl's identity to be found out, Gandalf let the book and box lie on the desk. The girl was lain on a litter and carried out by the guards, the priest following and murmuring blessings for her lost soul; naught much else could be done now. Aragorn would have her body inspected, for cause of death, and buried later today, and they needed to find out who she was, where she came from, of her family ...

Ai, it was so much to be done! Aragorn sighed, burying his face in his hands trying to keep from crying out in despair. Even if they were quite sure who held Legolas, Merry and Pippin captive, they knew not were they were or why the wizard had taken them. Gandalf maybe knew – it sounded like he knew – but refused to tell why. They needed to hurry. If his friends were hurt, Aragorn would make Saruman pay.

_'He should have been killed months ago when we had the chance,_' Aragorn thought bitterly_. 'Gandalf may be wise, but he could not predict what Saruman would do next ... Had he known, I doubt he would have let Saruman be. But, he was not left unprotected; the Ents guard – guarded - him, but obviously, the only safe way to guard a wizard is to use another wizard and Gandalf was not there to guard him ... Now it is too late for such regrets and being sound afterwards. I should have seen something like this was about to happen! One enemy was yet alive, weakened yes, but not defeated ...' _He sighed a little.

"Gandalf, if Saruman took them, where would he bring them then?" he turned to the wizard. "There must be a place, safe and hidden, or disguised enough for anyone to overlook. In that case, a cave would serve, a mine; there be problems as possible earthquakes, cave-ins and eventually suffocating by that, and a good layer of supplies. Yes, but it'd be well hidden, especially if he is using some mine long since abandoned. Or, he'd need a settlement of sorts. If he has men working for him, they cannot be too few ... A possibility is that he has taken over a town of little significance, bent the town-folks' minds to his will and by that established himself there. I believe Rohan can be overlooked; he is too much sought there, and now the King and the people, Edoras especially, knows the enemy. Then we have so many small towns, in Gondor, settlements in Erebor – though the dwarves guard their homes well – Mirkwood, Eriador ... Is there any place_ without _guards or warriors, or at least a larger military strength? If he _did_ take over a town or village and its people, he would need place small but protected, and well-supplied."

"You can have answered your own question, My King," Gandalf said. "Though, no enemy can be known well enough, it seems. He managed to send himself or a servant to the most guarded city in Gondor for one theft, which eventually led to murder. We cannot know."

Aragorn held back a groan, burying his face in his hands. "We need to send a messenger Rohan," he said at last. "Alert them of our suspicions, though delicately. We are not sure, only quite sure, yet. It could be a trail only left to confuse us. What I do wonder much, though, is why. Why would they kidnap Legolas, Meriadoc and Peregrin? An elf and two hobbits? Halflings are a folk not known to the world till yesterday; but elves ... Gandalf?"

The wizard did not answer for long minutes. The room was heavy with silence. In the end, he spoke up, quietly in elvish; so that no one would understand them if they heard, though it was not likely no one would hear as they now were alone.

"Dark Magic. There was a group of five Maia that first constructed the ancient spell, many long years ago that has no significance to Men. Elves, however, soon found out about what would be disastrous, but then it was too late; the Firstborn were one of the reasons for the spell. These Maia, whose names are gone now, had turned from the Valar and instead of the Music they learned the Dark Magic. They plagued the lands and grew stronger and stronger. For so is the effect of that spell; to claim all light, all joy and happiness and life of the elves, or any other creature. But elves are strongest; light, immortal, joyous ... The younger the elf was, the stronger the Maia grew by using it. When the Five wizards arrived to these shores, including me, we were aside from our first tasks appointed this: destroy these Maia, destroy their powers and destroy the spell. The spell was written in blood so long ago ... I believed for a long time it was gone, since we Wizards had managed to defeat one Maia each, but it had cost many lives. But I fear I was wrong."

Aragorn was speechless, feeling his mouth go dry with a twinge of deep fear. "Why did Lord Elrond not tell me of this? No elf has ever mentioned this, in history it is not recorded of what I know ... ere this day I never could have imagined ..."

"I know. We were asked to erase this, as we wanted none to try to search the Dark Magic again and thus create the spell anew."

"Gandalf," Aragorn whispered, "what you were looking for, was the ..."

"Yes, yes; it was. It is not here. Saruman must have taken it; that is why I am so sure he has done this. If he manage to use this spell, he will have back his powers and much more. There is one clear reason he took them, Aragorn," Gandalf murmured. "The spell would need souls. Elven souls. Young and innocent souls. Even a human one would do for a shorter length of time, but to gain ultimate power again it is better with a young, immortal soul."

Aragorn sank down to the floor in shock, feeling a shiver pass through his body, fear mixed with anger, as it dawned on him.

"Legolas' child ..."

--

He felt ... strange ... Almost like an illness, it worked up his throat. For a moment he felt sick and dizzy, followed by an immense feeling of fatigue. Fear pounded in his heart still; he was unsure of what was happening and what was going to happen, as well of the safety of Pippin, Merry ... his child. Oh his child! What if Saruman hurt his baby? What would he do? What_ could he_ do to protect himself, the baby, and his friends?

Not for the first time here he felt utterly hopeless, and he hated to feel this weak. It felt like his heart was in his throat, threatening to burst; he was afraid, afraid for the sake of his child. What had he done? Had he deserved this? He had been here for so long, he knew not how long, and he did not know where Pippin was, if he was all right. He should protect them. He was a warrior!

He suppressed a shiver. _'…How am I to get out of here?'_

--

"Come," Gandalf said. "There is a way to find out where they hide. Something that Saruman might not even have thought of."

In his usual demeanour, without adding any further information to Aragorn, Gandalf grabbed his staff and made his way outside again. He left the King with his men and the dead youngster to deal with, something Aragorn should do best.

The wizard hurriedly walked through the maze of corridors up to the Great Hall again, and soon Aragorn was on his heels; without pausing making his way to the small room where the Palantír, once having been in Denethor's hold, was being held.

There was no time to be shed. This might work or might not; it was long ago since he had last used any of the Seeing Stones. But if he could focus its gaze not on its known twin resting in Orthanc, but on something else, rather someone else ... Saruman was hidden fort he moment but he had not blinded the others. Where would he go? Caves and towers was of Saruman's liking, and a cave or some old system of caves, perhaps one abandoned by men or dwarves long ago, would appeal to the wizard. Gandalf knew where to Saruman could possibly be, though only possibly; he could be anyone and nowhere, depending which point of view one gazed that question.

Aragorn, having left orders with his men, came up to the wizard's side as Gandalf unlocked the small, secret door and opened it. "Gandalf, will you ...?"

"Now it'd be best you stand back, young man, and leave this to your elders," Gandalf interrupted and held out his arm, blocking Aragorn from following further.

Resting on a table in the center of the room was a round object covered with cloth; Gandalf pulled it aside to reveal a smooth, dark sphere. A deep blue tinted in the velvet blackness, a muted glow as from a dieing fire. Like an eye it stared up at them. The wizard felt the power radiating from the dangerous tool. From even where he stood by the door, Aragorn felt it trying to draw him. He could remember that he had heard rumours that a Palantír was yet here in Godnor, hidden, but he had not imagined that it was this close. But then he realized that Denethor could have used it – he knew that the old Steward had somehow challenged Sauron … could he perhaps he have used the Palantír?

"Is it possible for a Palantír to make you see without any other Stone linked to it?" Aragorn wondered. Gandalf did not answer his question.

Gandalf stepped to stand before the stone, raised his hands over it and closed his eyes. For long, silent moments the air was drawn out tensely and Aragorn stood waiting by the door, wanting to step inside the room but refraining from doing s. He dared not make a sound to break the wizard's concentration.

"My vision is darkened. I believe that Saruman must have set up barricades …" Gandalf spoke at last, voice slightly drained. Saruman had been like a shadow silhouetted against a black wall in a dead night; just within his grasp but he had been blind, overseeing it, and then the shadow had slipped away.

"I will try," Aragorn said.

His old friend lifted his piercing gaze too look at him. "You have faced this device before. It is dangerous, Aragorn."

"I will try," Aragorn said stubbornly. "I will not let Legolas or the hobbits be harmed or anyone try to mislead us. It might work, if I find out where Legolas is, then I can find the others."

It was no point in arguing. Aragorn was steadfast in his decision, and he was the King of Gondor. Gandalf stepped aside, yet close enough to help him if he must, as Aragorn moved forward and placed a hand above the sphere, closing his eyes.

_'Focus ...Focus your thoughts.' _That was what he had to do. Focus ... He tried to focus on Legolas, his dear friend, his laugh, his face, the light of his soul. Deep in his heart, Aragorn feared that he was going to lose him. He was going to loose one of the greatest friends he had ever had, one he had known since he had been a child.

_'Focus!'_

He couldn't lose him. He _wouldn't _lose him. Legolas was far too stubborn for that. '_"Far too stubborn for his own good ..."' _Aragorn searched his memory. Trying to stretch out and reach that light, elven soul. Something flickered in the darkness. A movement. A view opened up before him, the glimpse of a forest, then darkness again set like a corridor following lit and unlit torches. It led downwards ... a cave ... a tunnel ... Voices muttered in his ears along with shuffled silence that almost deafened him.

In the darkness there was a crack, light sipping through like under a doorway. From inside there was a voice. For a moment, Aragorn saw a pair of blue eyes and a very familiar face, the next he heard the voice call out again.

"_Estel? Is that you? Where are you? How…Estel! ... Estel?!"_

It caught him off-guard and it hurt him both physically and mentally hearing Legolas' voice in such fear. Aragorn fell backwards like he had been shot, gasping for air. All images, sounds and feelings fell away from his grasp when he no longer felt the cold stone beneath his hand. Something was laid on his shoulder.

"Aragorn? What did you see?" Gandalf's voice was urgent.

"I ..." He could not breathe. For several moments he just tried to regain his breath. "There was a forest ... a cave, a tunnel ... I saw him! Legolas! He was there ... but not alone. I could not see, Gandalf, not all of it; but I heard their voices. Legolas, he spoke to me ..."

"Catch your breath," Gandalf murmured, taking in all information that floated from Aragorn's mouth. So Saruman had hidden in a cave, after all.

"He needs me! They needs me! He called my name, called for aid!" Aragorn did his best to stand. His heart was still pounding like an Oliphaunt's stomping in his chest, threatening to burst.

"Are there are caves we know of here?" he wondered aloud, while he made it to the door. "A large cave with a corridor, something looking like an old abandoned mine, in a forest. It did not feel like Moria, it was not a vast expanse around me; it was a dark, cramped space where it was hard to breathe." He could only imagine Legolas' horror, as he knew the wood-elf hated and feared caves of any sort. Would he panic? And what about the hobbits? Where any of them harmed? And the elf's child then? Valar, if Legolas was in stress could it hurt the baby?

"We need to find them, Gandalf!"

Gandalf complemented in silence, a silence that unsettled the man. Aragorn felt more and more restless by every minute.

"I will ride to Isengard; there is something I must see. At the time, search the edges of the Firien forest and the Grey Wood. You as many others, and I, know well of the mountains that meet those both woods. Near or in them, it is possible Saruman could have found and taken refuge." It was a good point of hiding, near both Rohan and Gondor, yet unknown of since no large cities lay near there. Only if he was caught, Saruman would find himself caught between two strong kingdoms, trapped against a wall of mountain, like a rat in a hole. He would not have much of an escape then.

Both of them wondered just how Saruman could have found a cave and made any sort of stronghold there. He must have servants, obviously; perhaps it were Wild Men or surviving orcs, or both; or there were others he had hired in secret without letting the world ever know. If he had contact with the Haradrim or Southrons, or even people inside of Gondor and Rohan …

Aragorn nodded his understanding. "When will you be back?" he wondered.

"Meet me by Amon Dîn in three days if you can," Gandalf said. "I will await you, or another sent by you, at dawn; not longer. There is not much time. You must contact King Éomer immediately."

_----_


End file.
